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UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH_CARO_LI_NA_ 

School-  of  Library 
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A  WONDER-BOOK 
FOR  GIRLS  AND  BOYS. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/wonderbookforgirOhawth 


The  only  music  for  poor  Midas,  now,  was  the  chink  of  one  coin 
against  another 


THE    WINDERMERE    SERIES 

A  Wonder-Book 

FOR  GIRLS  AND   BOYS 


BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

MILO   WINTER 


RAND   M9NALLY  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  ,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  191 3,  by 

Rand  M"?Nally  &  Company 

All  rights  reserved 

Edition  of  1936 


Made  in  the  U.  S.  A. 


J 

2SE 


■ 


PREFACE. 


The  author  has  long  been  of  opinion  that  many  of 
the  classical  myths  were  capable  of  being  rendered 
into  very  capital  reading  for  children.  In  the  little 
volume  here  offered  to  the  public,  he  has  worked  up 
half  a  dozen  of  them,  with  this  end  in  view.  A  great 
freedom  of  treatment  was  necessary  to  his  plan ;  but 
it  will  be  observed  by  every  one  who  attempts  to  ren- 
der these  legends  malleable  in  his  intellectual  furnace, 
that  they  are  marvellously  independent  of  all  tem- 
porary modes  and  circumstances.  They  remain 
essentially  the  same,  after  changes  that  would  affect 
the  identity  of  almost  anything  else. 

He  does  not,  therefore,  plead  guilty  to  a  sacrilege, 
in  having  sometimes  shaped  anew,  as  his  fancy  dic- 
tated, the  forms  that  have  been  hallowed  by  an  antiq- 
uity of  two  or  three  thousand  years.  No  epoch  of 
time  can  claim  a  copyright  in  these  immortal  fables. 
They  seem  never  to  have  been  made ;  and  certamly, 
so  long  as  man  exists,  they  can  never  perish ;  but,  by 
their  indestructibility  itself,  they  are  legitimate  sub- 
jects for  every  age  to  clothe  with  its  own  garniture  of 
manners  and  sentiment,  and  to  imbue  with  its  own 
morality.  In  the  present  version  they  may  have 
lost  much  of  their  classical  aspect  (or,  at  all  events, 


4  PREFACE. 

the  author  has  not  been  careful  to  preserve  it),  and 
have,  perhaps,  assumed  a  Gothic  or  romantic  guise. 
In  performing  this  pleasant  task — for  it  has  been 
really  a  task  fit  for  hot  weather,  and  one  of  the  most 
agreeable,  of  a  literary  kind,  which  he  ever  under- 
took— the  author  has  not  always  thought  it  necessary 
to  write  downward,  in  order  to  meet  the  comprehen- 
sion of  children.  He  has  generally  suffered  the 
theme  to  soar,  whenever  such  was  its  tendency,  and 
when  he  himself  was  buoyant  enough  to  follow  with- 
out an  effort.  Children  possess  an  unestimated  sen- 
sibility to  whatever  is  deep  or  high,  in  imagination  or 
feeling,  so  long  as  it  is  simple,  likewise.  It  is  only 
the  artificial  and  the  complex  that  bewilder  them. 


THE   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface 3 

The  Illustrations 7 

THE   GORGON'S  HEAD 

Tanglewood    Porch.  —  Introductory     to     "The 

Gorgon's  Head" 11 

The  Gorgon's  Head 18 

Tanglewood  Porch. —  After  the  Story    ....  54 

THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH 

Shadow  Brook. —  Introductory  to  "The  Golden 

Touch" 59 

The  Golden  Touch 63 

Shadow  Brook. —  After  the  Story 89 

THE   PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN 

Tanglewood  Play-Room. — Introductory  to  "The 

Paradise  of  Children"        95 

The  Paradise  of  Children 100 

Tanglewood  Play-Room. — After  the  Story  .      .      .  125 

THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES 

Tanglewood    Fireside. — Introductory    to    "The 

Three  Golden  Apples" 129 

The  Three  Golden  Apples 136 

Tanglewood  Fireside. — After  the  Story      .      .      .  167 

5 


6  THE  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  MIRACULOUS   PITCHER 

The    Hill-Side. — Introductory    to    "The    Mirac- 
ulous Pitcher" 173 

The  Miraculous  Pitcher 177 

The  Hill-Side. — After  the  Story 207 

THE  CHIMERA 

Bald-Summit. — Introductory  to  "  The  Chimsera"     .   211 

The  Chimera 215 

Bald-Summit. — After  the  Story 250 


THE   ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  only  music  for  poor  Midas,  now,  was  the  clink 

of  one  coin  against  another Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

"Give  us  our  eye!" 30 

The   small,   embroidered   wallet   .    .    .   grew   all   at 

once  large  enough  to  contain  Medusa's  head. ...     46 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  life  indeed 102 

Then  he  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  told  them  the 

story  of  his  life 134 

And  what  should  Hercules  espy  there,  but  an  old 

man  fast  asleep ! 158 

An  abundant  cascade  fell  bubbling  into  the  bowl. ...    190 

As  it  came  within  arm's-length,  Bellerophon  made  a 

cut  at  the  monster 238 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 


A  Wonder-Book. 

TANGLEWOOD  PORCH. 

INTRODUCTORY  TO  "  THE  GORGON'S  HEAD." 

Beneath  the  porch  of  the  country  seat  called 
Tangle  wood,  one  fine  autumnal  morning,  was 
assembled  a  merry  party  of  little  folks,  with  a 
tall  youth  in  the  midst  of  them.  They  had 
planned  a  nutting  expedition,  and  were  im- 
patiently waiting  for  the  mists  to  roll  up  the 
hill-slopes,  and  for  the  sun  to  pour  the  warmth 
of  the  Indian  summer  over  the  fields  and  pas- 
tures, and  into  the  nooks  of  the  many-colored 
woods.  There  was  a  prospect  of  as  fine  a  day 
as  ever  gladdened  the  aspect  of  this  beautiful 
and  comfortable  world.  As  yet,  however,  the 
morning  mist  filled  up  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  the  valley,  above  which,  on  a  gently 
sloping  eminence,  the  mansion  stood. 

This  body  of  white  vapor  extended  to  within 
less  than  a  hundred  yards  of  the  house.  It 
completely  hid  everything  beyond  that  distance, 
except  a  few  ruddy  or  yellow  tree-tops,  which 

ii 


12  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

here  and  there  emerged,  and  were  glorified  by 
the  early  sunshine,  as  was  likewise  the  broad 
surface  of  the  mist.  Four  or  five  miles  off  to 
the  southward  rose  the  summit  of  Monument 
Mountain,  and  seemed  to  be  floating  on  a  cloud. 
Some  fifteen  miles  farther  away,  in  the  same 
direction,  appeared  the  loftier  Dome  of  Taconic, 
looking  blue  and  indistinct,  and  hardly  so  sub- 
stantial as  the  vapory  sea  that  almost  rolled 
over  it.  The  nearer  hills  which  bordered  the 
valley  were  half  submerged,  and  were  specked 
with  little  cloud  wreaths  all  the  way  to  their 
tops.  On  the  whole,  there  was  so  much  cloud, 
and  so  little  solid  earth,  that  it  had  the  effect 
of  a  vision. 

The  children  above-mentioned,  being  as  full 
of  life  as  they  could  hold,  kept  overflowing  from 
the  porch  of  Tanglewood,  and  scampering  along 
the  gravel- walk,  or  rushing  across  the  dewy 
herbage  of  the  lawn.  I  can  hardly  tell  how 
many  of  these  small  people  there  were;  not  less 
than  nine  or  ten,  however,  nor  more  than  a 
dozen,  of  all  sorts,  sizes,  and  ages,  whether  girls 
or  boys.  They  were  brothers,  sisters,  and 
cousins,  together  with  a  few  of  their  young 
acquaintances,  who  had  been  invited  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Pringle  to  spend  some  of  this  delightful 
weather  with  their  own  children,  at  Tanglewood. 
I  am  afraid  to  tell  you  their  names,  or  even  to 
give  them  any  names  which  other  children  have 


TANGLEWOOD  PORCH.  13 

ever  been  called  by;  because,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  authors  sometimes  get  themselves 
into  great  trouble  by  accidentally  giving  the 
names  of  real  persons  to  the  characters  in  their 
books.  For  this  reason,  I  mean  to  call  them 
Primrose,  Periwinkle,  Sweet  Fern,  Dandelion, 
Blue  Eye,  Clover,  Huckleberry,  Cowslip,  Squash- 
Blossom,  Milkweed,  Plantain,  and  Buttercup; 
although,  to  be  sure,  such  titles  might  better 
suit  a  group  of  fairies  than  a  company  of  earthly 
children. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  these  little  folks 
were  to  be  permitted  by  their  careful  fathers  and 
mothers,  uncles,  aunts,  or  grandparents,  to 
stray  abroad  into  the  woods  and  fields  without 
the  guardianship  of  some  particularly  grave 
and  elderly  person.  Oh,  no  indeed!  In  the 
first  sentence  of  my  book,  you  will  recollect  that 
I  spoke  of  a  tall  youth,  standing  in  the  midst  of 
the  children.  His  name — (and  I  shall  let  you 
know  his  real  name,  because  he  considers  it  a 
great  honor  to  have  told  the  stories  that  are 
here  to  be  printed) — his  name  was  Eustace 
Bright.  He  was  a  student  at  Williams  College, 
and  had  reached,  I  think,  at  this  period,  the 
venerable  age  of  eighteen  years;  so  that  he  felt 
quite  like  a  grandfather  towards  Periwinkle, 
Dandelion,  Huckleberry,  Squash-Blossom,  Milk- 
weed, and  the  rest,  who  were  only  half  or  a 
third  as  venerable  as  he.     A  trouble  in  his  eye- 


i4  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

sight  (such  as  many  students  think  it  necessary 
to  have,  nowadays,  in  order  to  prove  their  dili- 
gence at  their  books)  had  kept  him  from  college 
a  week  or  two  after  the  beginning  of  the  term. 
But,  for  my  part,  I  have  seldom  met  with  a  pair 
of  eyes  that  looked  as  if  they  could  see  farther  or 
better  than  those  of  Eustace  Bright. 

This  learned  student  was  slender,  and  rather 
pale,  as  all  Yankee  students  are;  but  yet  of  a 
healthy  aspect,  and  as  light  and  active  as  if  he 
had  wings  to  his  shoes.  By  and  by,  being  much 
addicted  to  wading  through  streamlets  and 
across  meadows,  he  had  put  on  cowhide  boots 
for  the  expedition.  He  wore  a  linen  blouse,  a 
cloth  cap,  and  a  pair  of  green  spectacles,  which 
he  had  assumed,  probably,  less  for  the  preser- 
vation of  his  eyes  than  for  the  dignity  that  they 
imparted  to  his  countenance.  In  either  case, 
however,  he  might  as  well  have  left  them  alone, 
for  Huckleberry,  a  mischievous  little  elf,  crept 
behind  Eustace  as  he  sat  on  the  steps  of  the 
porch,  snatched  the  spectacles  from  his  nose, 
and  clapped  them  on  her  own;  and  as  the 
student  forgot  to  take  them  back,  they  fell  off 
into  the  grass,  and  lay  there  till  the  next 
spring. 

Now,  Eustace  Bright,  you  must  know,  had 
won  great  fame  among  the  children,  as  a  narrator 
of  wonderful  stories ;  and  though  he  sometimes 
pretended  to  be  annoyed,  when  they  teased  him 


TANGLEWOOD    PORCH.  15 

for  more,  and  more,  and  always  for  more,  yet 
I  really  doubt  whether  he  liked  anything  quite 
so  well  as  to  tell  them.  You  might  have  seen 
his  eyes  twinkle,  therefore,  when  Clover,  Sweet 
Fern,  Cowslip,  Buttercup,  and  most  of  their 
playmates,  besought  him  to  relate  one  of  his 
stories,  while  they  were  waiting  for  the  mist  to 
clear  up. 

"Yes,  Cousin  Eustace,"  said  Primrose,  who 
was  a  bright  girl  of  twelve,  with  laughing  eyes, 
and  a  nose  that  turned  up  a  little,  "  the  morning 
is  certainly  the  best  time  for  the  stories  with 
which  you  so  often  tire  out  our  patience.  We 
shall  be  in  less  danger  of  hurting  your  feelings, 
by  falling  asleep  at  the  most  interesting  point 
— as  little  Cowslip  and  I  did  last  night! " 

"Naughty  Primrose,"  cried  Cowslip,  a  child 
of  six  years  old;  "I  did  not  fall  asleep,  and  I 
only  shut  my  eyes,  so  as  to  see  a  picture  of  what 
Cousin  Eustace  was  telling  about.  His  stories 
are  good  to  hear  at  night  because  we  can  dream 
about  them  asleep;  and  good  in  the  morning, 
too,  because  then  we  can  dream  about  them 
awake.  So  I  hope  he  will  tell  us  one  this  very 
minute." 

"Thank  you,  my  little  Cowslip,"  said  Eus- 
tace; "certainly  you  shall  have  the  best  story 
I  can  think  of,  if  it  were  only  for  defending  me 
so  well  from  that  naughty  Primrose.  But, 
children,  I  have  already  told  you  so  many  fairy 
2 


16  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

tales,  that  I  doubt  whether  there  is  a  single  one 
which  you  have  not  heard  at  least  twice  over. 
I  am  afraid  you  will  fall  asleep  in  reality,  if  I 
repeat  any  of  them  again." 

"No,  no,  no!"  cried  Blue  Eye,  Periwinkle, 
Plantain,  and  half  a  dozen  others.  "  We  like  a 
story  all  the  better  for  having  heard  it  two  or 
three  times  before." 

And  it  is  a  truth,  as  regards  children,  that  a 
story  seems  often  to  deepen  its  mark  in  their 
interest,  not  merely  by  two  or  three,  but  by 
numberless  repetitions.  But  Eustace  Bright 
in  the  exuberance  of  his  resources,  scorned  to 
avail  himself  of  an  advantage  which  an  older 
story-teller  would  have  been  glad  to  grasp  at. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  pity,"  said  he,  "if  a  man 
of  my  learning  (to  say  nothing  of  original  fancy) 
could  not  find  a  new  story  every  day,  year  in 
and  year  out,  for  children  such  as  you.  I  will 
tell  you  one  of  the  nursery  tales  that  were  made 
for  the  amusement  of  our  great  old  grand- 
mother, the  Earth,  when  she  was  a  child  in 
frock  and  pinafore.  There  are  a  hundred  such ; 
and  it  is  a  wonder  to  me  that  they  have  not  long 
ago  been  put  into  picture-books  for  little  girls 
and  boys.  But,  instead  of  that,  old  gray- 
bearded  grandsires  pore  over  them  in  musty 
volumes  of  Greek,  and  puzzle  themselves  with 
trying  to  find  out  when,  and  how,  and  for  what 
they  were  made." 


TANGLEWOOD  PORCH.  17 

"Well,  well,  well,  well,  Cousin  Eustace!" 
cried  all  the  children  at  once;  "talk  no  more 
about  your  stories,  but  begin." 

"Sit  down,  then,  every  soul  of  you,"  said 
Eustace  Bright,  "and  be  all  as  still  as  so  many 
mice.  At  the  slightest  interruption,  whether 
from  great,  naughty  Primrose,  little  Dandelion, 
or  any  other,  I  shall  bite  the  story  short  off 
between  my  teeth,  and  swallow  the  untold  part. 
But,  in  the  first  place,  do  any  of  you  know  what 
a  Gorgon  is?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Primrose. 

"Then  hold  your  tongue!"  rejoined  Eustace, 
who  had  rather  she  would  have  known  nothing 
about  the  matter.  "  Hold  all  your  tongues, 
and  I  shall  tell  you  a  sweet  pretty  story  of  a 
Gorgon's  head." 

And  so  he  did,  as  you  may  begin  to  read  on 
the  next  page.  Working  up  his  sophomorical 
erudition  with  a  good  deal  of  tact,  and  incurring 
great  obligations  to  Professor  Anthon,  he, 
nevertheless,  disregarded  all  classical  authori- 
ties, whenever  the  vagrant  audacity  of  his 
imagination  impelled  him  to  do  so. 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD. 

Perseus  was  the  son  of  Danae,  who  was  the 
daughter  of  a  king.  And  when  Perseus  was  a 
very  little  boy,  some  wicked  people  put  his 
mother  and  himself  into  a  chest,  and  set  them 
afloat  upon  the  sea.  The  wind  blew  freshly, 
and  drove  the  chest  away  from  the  shore,  and 
the  uneasy  billows  tossed  it  up  and  down ;  while 
Danae  clasped  her  child  closely  to  her  bosom, 
and  dreaded  that  some  big  wave  would  dash 
its  foamy  crest  over  them  both.  The  chest 
sailed  on,  however,  and  neither  sank  nor  was 
upset;  until,  when  night  was  coming,  it  floated 
so  near  an  island  that  it  got  entangled  in  a 
fisherman's  nets,  and  was  drawn  out  high  and 
dry  upon  the  sand.  The  island  was  called 
Seriphus,  and  it  was  reigned  over  by  King  Poly- 
dectes,  who  happened  to  be  the  fisherman's 
brother. 

This  fisherman,  I  am  glad  to  tell  you,  was  an 
exceedingly  humane  and  upright  man.  He 
showed  great  kindness  to  Danae  and  her  little 
boy;  and  continued  to  befriend  them,  until 
Perseus  had  grown  to  be  a  handsome  youth, 
very  strong  and  active,  and  skilful  in  the  use  of 

18 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  19 

arms.  Long  before  this  time,  King  Polydectes 
had  seen  the  two  strangers — the  mother  and  her 
child — who  had  come  to  his  dominions  in  a 
floating  chest.  As  he  was  not  good  and  kind, 
like  his  brother  the  fisherman,  but  extremely 
wicked,  he  resolved  to  send  Perseus  on  a  dan- 
gerous enterprise,  in  which  he  would  probably 
be  killed,  and  then  to  do  some  great  mischief 
to  Danae  herself.  So  this  bad-hearted  king 
spent  a  long  while  in  considering  what  was  the 
most  dangerous  thing  that  a  young  man  could 
possibly  undertake  to  perform.  At  last,  having 
hit  upon  an  enterprise  that  promised  to  turn 
out  as  fatally  as  he  desired,  he  sent  for  the 
youthful  Perseus. 

The  young  man  came  to  the  palace,  and 
found  the  king  sitting  upon  his  throne. 

"Perseus,"  said  King  Polydectes,  smiling 
craftily  upon  him,  "you  are  grown  up  a  fine 
young  man.  You  and  your  good  mother  have 
received  a  great  deal  of  kindness  from  myself 
as  well  as  from  my  worthy  brother  the  fisher- 
man, and  I  suppose  you  would  not  be  sorry  to 
repay  some  of  it." 

"Please  your  Majesty,"  answered  Perseus, 
"  I  would  willingly  risk  my  life  to  do  so." 

"Well,  then,"  continued  the  king,  still  with 
a  cunning  smile  on  his  lips,  "  I  have  a  little 
adventure  to  propose  to  you;  and,  as  you  are  a 
brave  and  enterprising  youth,  you  will  doubt- 


20  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

less  look  upon  it  as  a  great  piece  of  good  luck 
to  have  so  rare  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing 
yourself.  You  must  know,  my  good  Perseus, 
I  think  of  getting  married  to  the  beautiful 
Princess  Hippodamia;  and  it  is  customary,  on 
these  occasions,  to  make  the  bride  a  present  of 
some  far-fetched  and  elegant  curiosity.  I  have 
been  a  little  perplexed,  I  must  honestly  confess, 
where  to  obtain  anything  likely  to  please  a 
princess  of  her  exquisite  taste.  But,  this  morn- 
ing, I  natter  myself,  I  have  thought  of  precisely 
the  article." 

"  And  can  I  assist  your  Majesty  in  obtaining 
it?"  cried  Perseus,  eagerly. 

"  You  can,  if  you  are  as  brave  a  youth  as  I 
believe  you  to  be,"  replied  King  Polydectes, 
with  the  utmost  graciousness  of  manner.  "  The 
bridal  gift  which  I  have  set  my  heart  on  pre- 
senting to  the  beautiful  Hippodamia  is  the  head 
of  the  Gorgon  Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks; 
and  I  depend  on  you,  my  dear  Perseus,  to  bring 
it  to  me.  So,  as  I  am  anxious  to  settle  affairs 
with  the  princess,  the  sooner  you  go  in  quest  of 
the  Gorgon,  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased." 

"  I  will  set  out  to-morrow  morning,"  answered 
Perseus. 

"  Pray  do  so,  my  gallant  youth,"  rejoined  the 
king.  "  And,  Perseus,  in  cutting  off  the  Gorgon's 
head,  be  careful  to  make  a  clean  stroke,  so  as 
not  to  injure  its  appearance.    You  must  bring 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  21 

it  home  in  the  very  best  condition,  in  order 
to  suit  the  exquisite  taste  of  the  beautiful 
Princess  Hippodamia." 

Perseus  left  the  palace,  but  was  scarcely  out 
of  hearing  belore  Polydectes  burst  into  a  laugh ; 
being  greatly  amused,  wicked  king  that  he  was, 
to  find  how  readily  the  young  man  fell  into  the 
snare.  The  news  quickly  spread  abroad  that 
Perseus  had  undertaken  to  cut  off  the  head  of 
Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks.  Everybody  was 
rejoiced;  for  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
island  were  as  wicked  as  the  king  himself,  and 
would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  see 
some  enormous  mischief  happen  to  Danae  and 
her  son.  The  only  good  man  in  this  unfortunate 
island  of  Seriphus  appears  to  have  been  the 
fisherman.  As  Perseus  walked  along,  therefore, 
the  people  pointed  after  him,  and  made  mouths, 
and  winked  to  one  another,  and  ridiculed  him  as 
loudly  as  they  dared. 

"Ho,  ho!"  cried  they;  "Medusa's  snakes 
will  sting  him  soundly." 

Now,  there  were  three  Gorgons  alive  at  that 
period;  and  they  were  the  most  strange  and 
terrible  monsters  that  had  ever  been  seen  since 
the  world  was  made,  or  that  have  been  seen  in 
after  days,  or  that  are  likely  to  be  seen  in  all 
time  to  come.  I  hardly  know  what  sort  of 
creature  or  hobgoblin  to  call  them.  They  were 
three  sisters,  and  seem  to  have  borne  some  dis- 


22  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

tant  resemblance  to  women,  but  were  really  a 
very  frightful  and  mischievous  species  of  dragon. 
It  is,  indeed,  difficult  to  imagine  what  hideous 
beings  these  three  sisters  were.  Why,  instead 
of  locks  of  hair,  if  you  can  believe  me,  they  had 
each  of  them  a  hundred  enormous  snakes,  grow- 
ing on  their  heads,  all  alive,  twisting,  wriggling, 
curling,  and  thrusting  out  their  venomous 
tongues,  with  forked  stings  at  the  end!  The 
teeth  of  the  Gorgons  were  terribly  long  tusks; 
their  hands  were  made  of  brass;  and  their 
bodies  were  all  over  scales,  which,  if  not  iron, 
were  something  as  hard  and  impenetrable.  They 
had  wings,  too,  and  exceedingly  splendid  ones, 
I  can  assure  you ;  for  every  feather  in  them  was 
pure,  bright,  glittering,  burnished  gold,  and 
they  looked  very  dazzlingly,  no  doubt,  when  the 
Gorgons  were  flying  about  in  the  sunshine. 

But  when  people  happened  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  their  glittering  brightness,  aloft  in 
the  air,  they  seldom  stopped  to  gaze,  but  ran 
and  hid  themselves  as  speedily  as  they  could. 
You  will  think,  perhaps,  that  they  were  afraid 
of  being  stung  by  the  serpents  that  served  the 
Gorgons  instead  of  hair, — or  of  having  their 
heads  bitten  off  by  their  ugly  tusks, — or  of  being 
torn  all  to  pieces  by  their  brazen  claws.  Well, 
to  be  sure,  these  were  some  of  the  dangers,  but 
by  no  means  the  greatest,  nor  the  most  difficult 
to  avoid.     For  the  worst  thing  about  these 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  23 

abominable  Gorgons  was,  that,  if  once  a  poor 
mortal  fixed  his  eyes  full  upon  one  of  their  faces, 
he  was  certain,  that  very  instant,  to  be  changed 
from  warm  flesh  and  blood  into  cold  and  lifeless 
stone ! 

Thus,  as  you  will  easily  perceive,  it  was  a  very 
dangerous  adventure  that  the  wicked  King 
Polydectes  had  contrived  for  this  innocent 
young  man.  Perseus  himself,  when  he  had 
thought  over  the  matter,  could  not  help  seeing 
that  he  had  very  little  chance  of  coming  safely 
through  it,  and  that  he  was  far  more  likely  to 
become  a  stone  image  than  to  bring  back  the 
head  of  Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks.  For 
not  to  speak  of  other  difficulties,  there  was  one 
which  it  would  have  puzzled  an  older  man  than 
Perseus  to  get  over.  Not  only  must  he  fight 
with  and  slay  this  golden-winged,  iron-scaled, 
long-tusked,  brazen-clawed,  snaky-haired  mon- 
ster, but  he  must  do  it  with  his  eyes  shut,  or, 
at  least,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the 
enemy  with  whom  he  was  contending.  Else, 
while  his  arm  was  lifted  to  strike,  he  would 
stiffen  into  stone,  and  stand  with  that  uplifted 
arm  for  centuries,  until  time,  and  the  wind  and 
weather,  should  crumble  him  quite  away.  This 
would  be  a  very  sad  thing  to  befall  a  young  man 
who  wanted  to  perform  a  great  many  brave 
deeds,  and  to  enjoy  a  great  deal  of  happiness,  in 
this  bright  and  beautiful  world. 


24  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

So  disconsolate  did  these  thoughts  make  him, 
that  Perseus  could  not  bear  to  tell  his  mother 
what  he  had  undertaken  to  do.  He  therefore 
took  his  shield,  girded  on  his  sword,  and  crossed 
over  from  the  island  to  the  mainland,  where  he 
sat  down  in  a  solitary  place,  and  hardly  refrained 
from  shedding  tears. 

But,  while  he  was  in  this  sorrowful  mood,  he 
heard  a  voice  close  behind  him. 

"  Perseus,"  said  the  voice,  "  why  are  you  sad?'' 

He  lifted  his  head  from  his  hands,  in  which 
he  had  hidden  it,  and,  behold!  all  alone  as 
Perseus  had  supposed  himself  to  be,  there  was 
a  stranger  in  the  solitary  place.  It  was  a  brisk, 
intelligent,  and  remarkably  shrewd-looking 
young  man,  with  a  cloak  over  his  shoulders, 
an  odd  sort  of  cap  on  his  head,  a  strangely 
twisted  staff  in  his  hand,  and  a  short  and  very 
crooked  sword  hanging  by  his  side.  He  was 
exceedingly  light  and  active  in  his  figure,  like  a 
person  much  accustomed  to  gymnastic  exer- 
cises, and  well  able  to  leap  or  run.  Above  all, 
the  stranger  had  such  a  cheerful,  knowing,  and 
helpful  aspect  (though  it  was  certainly  a  little 
mischievous,  into  the  bargain),  that  Perseus 
could  not  help  feeling  his  spirits  grow  livelier 
as  he  gazed  at  him.  Besides,  being  really  a 
courageous  youth,  he  felt  greatly  ashamed  that 
anybody  should  have  found  him  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  like  a  timid  little  school-boy,  when, 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  25 

after  all,  there  might  be  no  occasion  for  despair. 
So  Perseus  wiped  his  eyes,  and  answered  the 
stranger  pretty  briskly,  putting  on  as  brave  a 
look  as  he  could. 

"I  am  not  so  very  sad,"  said  he,  ''only 
thoughtful  about  an  adventure  that  I  have 
undertaken." 

"Oho!"  answered  the  stranger.  "Well, 
tell  me  all  about  it,  and  possibly  I  may  be  of 
service  to  you.  I  have  helped  a  good  many 
young  men  through  adventures  that  looked 
difficult  enough  beforehand.  Perhaps  you  may 
have  heard  of  me.  I  have  more  names  than 
one;  but  the  name  of  Quicksilver  suits  me  as 
well  as  any  other.  Tell  me  what  the  trouble  is, 
and  we  will  talk  the  matter  over,  and  see  what 
can  be  done." 

The  stranger's  words  and  manner  put  Perseus 
into  quite  a  different  mood  from  his  former  one. 
He  resolved  to  tell  Quicksilver  all  his  difficulties, 
since  he  could  not  easily  be  worse  off  than  he 
already  was,  and,  very  possibly,  his  new  friend 
might  give  him  some  advice  that  would  turn 
out  well  in  the  end.  So  he  let  the  stranger  know, 
in  few  words,  precisely  what  the  case  was, — 
how  that  King  Polydectes  wanted  the  head  of 
Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks  as  a  bridal  gift  for 
the  beautiful  Princess  Hippodamia,  and  how 
that  he  had  undertaken  to  get  it  for  him,  but 
was  afraid  of  being  turned  into  stone. 


26  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"  And  that  would  be  a  great  pity,"  said  Quick- 
silver, with  his  mischievous  smile.  "  You  would 
make  a  very  handsome  marble  statue,  it  is  true, 
and  it  would  be  a  considerable  number  of  cen- 
turies before  you  crumbled  away;  but,  on  the 
whole,  one  would  rather  be  a  young  man  for  a 
few  years,  than  a  stone  image  for  a  great  many." 

"Oh,  far  rather!"  exclaimed  Perseus,  with 
the  tears  again  standing  in  his  eyes.  "And, 
besides,  what  would  my  dear  mother  do,  if  her 
beloved  son  were  turned  into  a  stone  ? ' ' 

"Well,  well,  let  us  hope  that  the  affair  will 
not  turn  out  so  very  badly,"  replied  Quicksilver, 
in  an  encouraging  tone.  "  I  am  the  very  person 
to  help  you  if  anybody  can.  My  sister  and 
myself  will  do  our  utmost  to  bring  you  safe 
through  the  adventure,  ugly  as  it  now  looks." 

"Your  sister?"  repeated  Perseus. 

"Yes,  my  sister,"  said  the  stranger.  "She 
is  very  wise,  I  promise  you;  and  as  for  myself, 
I  generally  have  all  my  wits  about  me,  such  as 
they  are.  If  you  show  yourself  bold  and  cau- 
tious, and  follow  our  advice,  you  need  not  fear 
being  a  stone  image  yet  awhile.  But,  first  of 
all,  you  must  polish  your  shield,  till  you  can 
see  your  face  in  it  as  distinctly  as  in  a  mirror." 

This  seemed  to  Perseus  rather  an  odd  begin- 
ning of  the  adventure ;  for  he  thought  it  of  far 
more  consequence  that  the  shield  should  be 
strong  enough  to  defend  him  from  the  Gorgon's 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  27 

brazen  claws,  than  that  it  should  be  bright 
enough  to  show  him  the  reflection  of  his  face. 
However,  concluding  that  Quicksilver  knew 
better  than  himself,  he  immediately  set  to  work 
and  scrubbed  the  shield  with  so  much  diligence 
and  good- will,  that  it  very  quickly  shone  like 
the  moon  at  harvest-time.  Quicksilver  looked 
at  it  with  a  smile,  and  nodded  his  approbation. 
Then,  taking  off  his  own  short  and  crooked 
sword,  he  girded  it  about  Perseus,  instead  of 
the  one  which  he  had  before  worn. 

"No  sword  but  mine  will  answer  your  pur- 
pose," observed  he;  "the  blade  has  a  most 
excellent  temper,  and  will  cut  through  iron 
and  brass  as  easily  as  through  the  slenderest 
twig.  And  now  we  will  set  out.  The  next 
thing  is  to  find  the  Three  Gray  Women,  who 
will  tell  us  where  to  find  the  Nymphs." 

"The  Three  Gray  Women!"  cried  Perseus, 
to  whom  this  seemed  only  a  new  difficulty  in 
the  path  of  his  adventure;  "pray  who  may  the 
Three  Gray  Women  be  ?  I  never  heard  of  them 
before." 

"  They  are  three  very  strange  old  ladies,"  said 
Quicksilver,  laughing.  "They  have  but  one 
eye  among  them,  and  only  one  tooth.  More- 
over, you  must  find  them  out  by  starlight,  or 
in  the  dusk  of  the  evening;  for  they  never  show 
themselves  by  the  light  either  of  the  sun  or 
moon." 


28  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"But,"  said  Perseus,  "why  should  I  waste 
my  time  with  these  Three  Gray  Women? 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  set  out  at  once  in 
search  of  the  terrible  Gorgons?" 

"No,  no,"  answered  his  friend.  "There  are 
other  things  to  be  done,  before  you  can  find 
your  way  to  the  Gorgons.  There  is  nothing 
for  it  but  to  hunt  up  these  old  ladies ;  and  when 
we  meet  with  them,  you  may  be  sure  that  the 
Gorgons  are  not  a  great  way  off.  Come,  let  us 
be  stirring?" 

Perseus,  by  this  time,  felt  so  much  confidence 
in  his  companion's  sagacity,  that  he  made  no 
more  objections,  and  professed  himself  ready  to 
begin  the  adventure  immediately.  They  accord- 
ingly set  out,  and  walked  at  a  pretty  brisk  pace ; 
so  brisk,  indeed,  that  Perseus  found  it  rather 
difficult  to  keep  up  with  his  nimble  friend  Quick- 
silver. To  say  the  truth,  he  had  a  singular  idea 
that  Quicksilver  was  furnished  with  a  pair  of 
winged  shoes,  which,  of  course,  helped  him  along 
marvellously.  And  then,  too,  when  Perseus 
looked  sideways  at  him,  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eyes,  he  seemed  to  see  wings  on  the  side  of  his 
head;  although,  if  he  turned  a  full  gaze,  there 
were  no  such  things  to  be  perceived,  but  only 
an  odd  kind  of  cap.  But,  at  all  events, 
the  twisted  staff  was  evidently  a  great 
convenience  to  Quicksilver,  and  enabled  him 
to   proceed    so   fast,    that    Perseus,    though   a 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  29 

remarkably  active  young  man,  began  to  be  out 
of  breath. 

''Here!"  cried  Quicksilver,  at  last, — for  he 
knew  well  enough,  rogue  that  he  was,  how  hard 
Perseus  found  it  to  keep  pace  with  him, — "  take 
you  the  staff,  for  you  need  it  a  great  deal  more 
than  I.  Are  there  no  better  walkers  than  your- 
self in  the  island  of  Seriphus?" 

"  I  could  walk  pretty  well,"  said  Perseus, 
glancing  slyly  at  his  companion's  feet,  "  if  I  had 
only  a  pair  of  winged  shoes." 

"We  must  see  about  getting  you  a  pair," 
answered  Quicksilver. 

But  the  staff  helped  Perseus  along  so  bravely, 
that  he  no  longer  felt  the  slightest  weariness. 
In  fact,  the  stick  seemed  to  be  alive  in  his  hand, 
and  to  lend  some  of  its  life  to  Perseus.  He  and 
Quicksilver  now  walked  onward  at  their  ease, 
talking  very  sociably  together;  and  Quicksilver 
told  so  many  pleasant  stories  about  his  former 
adventures,  and  how  well  his  wits  had  served 
him  on  various  occasions,  that  Perseus  began 
to  think  him  a  very  wonderful  person.  He 
evidently  knew  the  world;  and  nobody  is  so 
charming  to  a  young  man  as  a  friend  who  has 
that  kind  of  knowledge.  Perseus  listened  the 
more  eagerly,  in  the  hope  of  brightening  his  own 
wits  by  what  he  heard. 

At  last,  he  happened  to  recollect  that  Quick- 
silver had  spoken  of  a  sister,  who  was  to  lend 


30  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

her  assistance  in  the  adventure  which  they  were 
now  bound  upon. 

"Where  is  she?"  he  inquired.  "Shall  we 
not  meet  her  soon?" 

"  All  at  the  proper  time,"  said  his  companion. 
"  But  this  sister  of  mine,  you  must  understand, 
is  quite  a  different  sort  of  character  from  myself. 
She  is  very  grave  and  prudent,  seldom  smiles, 
never  laughs,  and  makes  it  a  rule  not  to  utter 
a  word  unless  she  has  something  particularly 
profound  to  say.  Neither  will  she  listen  to  any 
but  the  wisest  conversation." 

"Dear  me!"  ejaculated  Perseus;  "I  shall  be 
afraid  to  say  a  syllable." 

"  She  is  a  very  accomplished  person,  I  assure 
you,"  continued  Quicksilver,  "and  has  all  the 
arts  and  sciences  at  her  fingers'  ends.  In  short, 
she  is  so  immoderately  wise,  that  many  people 
call  her  wisdom  personified.  But,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  she  has  hardly  vivacity  enough  for  my 
taste;  and  I  think  you  would  scarcely  find  her 
so  pleasant  a  travelling  companion  as  myself. 
She  has  her  good  points,  nevertheless;  and  you 
will  find  the  benefit  of  them,  in  your  encounter 
with  the  Gorgons." 

By  this  time  it  had  grown  quite  dusk.  They 
were  now  come  to  a  very  wild  and  desert  place, 
overgrown  with  shaggy  bushes,  and  so  silent  and 
solitary  that  nobody  seemed  ever  to  have  dwelt 
or  journeyed  there.     All  was  waste  and  desolate, 


Give  us  our  eye!" 


Page  ,-• 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  31 

in  the  gray  twilight,  which  grew  every  moment 
more  obscure.  Perseus  looked  about  him, 
rather  disconsolately,  and  asked  Quicksilver 
whether  they  had  a  great  deal  farther  to  go. 

"Hist!  hist!"  whispered  his  companion. 
"Make  no  noise!  This  is  just  the  time  and 
place  to  meet  the  Three  Gray  Women.  Be 
careful  that  they  do  not  see  you  before  you  see 
them;  for,  though  they  have  but  a  single  eye 
among  the  three,  it  is  as  sharp-sighted  as  half  a 
dozen  common  eyes." 

"  But  what  must  I  do,"  asked  Perseus,  "when 
we  meet  them?" 

Quicksilver  explained  to  Perseus  how  the 
Three  Gray  Women  managed  with  their  one 
eye.  They  were  in  the  habit,  it  seems,  of  chang- 
ing it  from  one  to  another,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
pair  of  spectacles,  or — which  would  have  suited 
them  better — a  quizzing-glass.  When  one  of 
the  three  had  kept  the  eye  a  certain  time,  she 
took  it  out  of  the  socket  and  passed  it  to  one  of 
her  sisters,  whose  turn  it  might  happen  to  be, 
and  who  immediately  clapped  it  into  her  own 
head,  and  enjoyed  a  peep  at  the  visible  world. 
Thus  it  will  be  easily  understood  that  only  one 
of  the  Three  Gray  Women  could  see,  while  the 
other  two  were  in  utter  darkness;  and,  more- 
over, at  the  instant  when  the  eye  was  passing 
from  hand  to  hand,  neither  of  the  poor  old  ladies 
was  able  to  see  a  wink.  I  have  heard  of  a  great 
3 


32  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

many  strange  things  in  my  day,  and  have  wit- 
nessed not  a  few;  but  none,  it  seems  to  me,  that 
can  compare  with  the  oddity  of  these  Three 
Gray  Women,  all  peeping  through  a  single  eye. 

So  thought  Perseus,  likewise,  and  was  so 
astonished  that  he  almost  fancied  his  companion 
was  joking  with  him,  and  that  there  were  no 
such  old  women  in  the  world. 

"You  will  soon  find  whether  I  tell  the  truth 
or  no,"  observed  Quicksilver.  "Hark!  hush 
hist!  hist!     There  they  come,  now!" 

Perseus  looked  earnestly  through  the  dusk  of 
the  evening,  and  there,  sure  enough,  at  no  great 
distance  off,  he  descried  the  Three  Gray 
Women.  The  light  being  so  faint,  he  could  not 
well  make  out  what  sort  of  figures  they  were; 
only  he  discovered  that  they  had  long  gray  hair ; 
and,  as  they  came  nearer,  he  saw  that  two  of 
them  had  but  the  empty  socket  of  an  eye  in  the 
middle  of  their  foreheads.  But,  in  the  middle 
of  the  third  sister's  forehead,  there  was  a  very 
large,  bright,  and  piercing  eye,  which  sparkled 
like  a  great  diamond  in  a  ring;  and  so  penetrat- 
ing did  it  seem  to  be,  that  Perseus  could  not 
help  thinking  it  must  possess  the  gift  of  seeing 
in  the  darkest  midnight  just  as  perfectly  as  at 
noonday.  The  sight  of  three  persons'  eyes  was 
melted  and  collected  into  that  single  one. 

Thus  the  three  old  dames  got  along  about  as 
comfortably,  upon  the  whole,  as  if  they  could 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  33 

all  see  at  once.  She  who  chanced  to  have  the 
eye  in  her  forehead  led  the  other  two  by  the 
hands,  peeping  sharply  about  her  all  the  while; 
insomuch  that  Perseus  dreaded  lest  she  should 
see  right  through  the  thick  clump  of  bushes 
behind  which  he  and  Quicksilver  had  hidden 
themselves.  My  stars !  it  was  positively  terrible 
to  be  within  reach  of  so  very  sharp  an  eye ! 

But,  before  they  reached  the  clump  of  bushes, 
one  of  the  Three  Gray  Women  spoke. 

"Sister!  Sister  Scarecrow!"  cried  she,  "you 
have  had  the  eye  long  enough.  It  is  my  turn 
now!" 

"  Let  me  keep  it  a  moment  longer,  Sister 
Nightmare,"  answered  Scarecrow.  "I  thought 
I  had  a  glimpse  of  something  behind  that  thick 
bush." 

"Well,  and  what  of  that?"  retorted  Night- 
mare peevishly.  "  Can't  I  see  into  a  thick  bush 
as  easily  as  yourself?  The  eye  is  mine  as  well 
as  yours ;  and  I  know  the  use  of  it  as  well  as  you, 
or  may  be  a  little  better.  I  insist  upon  taking  a 
peep  immediately!" 

But  here  the  third  sister,  whose  name  was 
Shakejoint,  began  to  complain,  and  said  that 
it  was  her  turn  to  have  the  eye,  and  that  Scare- 
crow and  Nightmare  wanted  to  keep  it  all  to 
themselves.  To  end  the  dispute,  old  Dame 
Scarecrow  took  the  eye  out  of  her  forehead,  and 
held  it  forth  in  her  hand. 


34  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Take  it,  one  of  you,"  cried  she,  "and  quit 
this  foolish  quarrelling.  For  my  part,  I  shall 
be  glad  of  a  little  thick  darkness.  Take  it 
quickly,  however,  or  I  must  clap  it  into  my  own 
head  again ! ' ' 

Accordingly,  both  Nightmare  and  Shakejoint 
put  out  their  hands,  groping  eagerly  to  snatch 
the  eye  out  of  the  hand  of  Scarecrow.  But 
being  both  alike  blind,  they  could  not  easily  find 
where  Scarecrow's  hand  was;  and  Scarecrow, 
being  just  now  as  much  in  the  dark  as  Shake- 
joint  and  Nightmare,  could  not  at  once  meet 
either  of  their  hands,  in  order  to  put  the  eye 
into  it.  Thus  (as  you  will  see,  with  half  an  eye, 
my  wise  little  auditors),  these  good  old  dames 
had  fallen  into  a  strange  perplexity.  For, 
though  the  eye  shone  and  glistened  like  a  star, 
as  Scarecrow  held  it  out,  yet  the  Gray  Women 
caught  not  the  least  glimpse  of  its  light,  and 
were  all  three  in  utter  darkness,  from  too 
impatient  a  desire  to  see. 

Quicksilver  was  so  much  tickled  at  beholding 
Shakejoint  and  Nightmare  both  groping  for 
the  eye,  and  each  finding  fault  with  Scarecrow 
and  one  another,  that  he  could  scarcely  help 
laughing  aloud.  "Now  is  your  time!"  he 
whispered  to  Perseus.  "Quick,  quick!  before 
they  can  clap  the  eye  into  either  of  their  heads. 
Rush  out  upon  the  old  ladies,  and  snatch  it 
from  Scarecrow's  hand!" 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  35 

In  an  instant,  while  the  Three  Gray  Women 
were  still  scolding  each  other,  Perseus  leaped 
from  behind  the  clump  of  bushes,  and  made 
himself  master  of  the  prize.  The  marvellous 
eye,  as  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  shone  very  brightly, 
and  seemed  to  look  up  into  his  face  with  a  know- 
ing air,  and  an  expression  as  if  it  would  have 
winked,  had  it  been  provided  with  a  pair  of 
eyelids  for  that  purpose.  But  the  Gray  Women 
knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened;  and,  each 
supposing  that  one  of  her  sisters  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  eye,  they  began  their  quarrel  anew. 
At  last,  as  Perseus  did  not  wish  to  put  these 
respectable  dames  to  greater  inconvenience  than 
was  really  necessary,  he  thought  it  right  to 
explain  the  matter. 

"My  good  ladies,"  said  he,  "pray  do  not  be 
angry  with  one  another.  If  anybody  is  in  fault, 
it  is  myself;  for  I  have  the  honor  to  hold  your 
very  brilliant  and  excellent  eye  in  my  own  hand !' 

"You!  you  have  our  eye!  And  who  are 
you?"  screamed  the  Three  Gray  Women,  all 
in  a  breath;  for  they  were  terribly  frightened, 
of  course,  at  hearing  a  strange  voice,  and  dis- 
covering that  their  eyesight  had  got  into  the 
hands  of  they  could  not  guess  whom.  "Oh, 
what  shall  we  do,  sisters?  what  shall  we  do? 
We  are  all  in  the  dark !  Give  us  our  eye !  Give 
us  our  one,  precious,  solitary  eye!  You  have 
two  of  your  own !     Give  us  our  eye ! " 


36  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Tell  them,"  whispered  Quicksilver  to  Per- 
seus, "that  they  shall  have  back  the  eye  as 
soon  as  they  direct  you  where  to  find  the 
Nymphs  who  have  the  flying  slippers,  the  magic 
wallet,  and  the  helmet  of  darkness." 

"My  dear,  good,  admirable  old  ladies,"  said 
Perseus,  addressing  the  Gray  Women,  "there 
is  no  occasion  for  putting  yourselves  into  such 
a  fright.  I  am  by  no  means  a  bad  young  man. 
You  shall  have  back  your  eye,  safe  and  sound, 
and  as  bright  as  ever,  the  moment  you  tell  me 
where  to  find  the  Nymphs." 

"The  Nymphs!  Goodness  me!  sisters,  what 
Nymphs  does  he  mean?"  screamed  Scarecrow. 
"There  are  a  great  many  Nymphs,  people  say; 
some  that  go  a-hunting  in  the  woods,  and  some 
that  live  inside  of  trees,  and  some  that  have  a 
comfortable  home  in  fountains  of  water.  We 
know  nothing  at  all  about  them.  We  are  three 
unfortunate  old  souls,  that  go  wandering  about 
in  the  dusk,  and  never  had  but  one  eye  amongst 
us,  and  that  one  you  have  stolen  away.  Oh, 
give  it  back,  good  stranger! — whoever  you  are, 
give  it  back ! ' ' 

All  this  while  the  Three  Gray  Women  were 
groping  with  their  outstretched  hands,  and 
trying  their  utmost  to  get  hold  of  Perseus.  But 
he  took  good  care  to  keep  out  of  their  reach. 

"My  respectable  dames!"  said  he, — for  his 
mother   had   taught   him   to   use   always   the 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  37 

greatest  civility, — "  I  hold  your  eye  fast  in  my 
hand,  and  shall  keep  it  safely  for  you,  until  you 
please  to  tell  me  where  to  find  these  Nymphs. 
The  Nymphs,  I  mean,  who  keep  the  enchanted 
wallet,  the  flying  slippers,  and  the  what  is  it? — 
the  helmet  of  invisibility ! ' ' 

"  Mercy  on  us,  sisters!  what  is  the  young  man 
talking  about?"  exclaimed  Scarecrow,  Night- 
mare, and  Shakejoint,  one  to  another,  with  great 
appearance  of  astonishment.  "A  pair  of  flying 
slippers,  quoth  he!  His  heels  would  quickly 
fly  higher  than  his  head,  if  he  were  silly  enough 
to  put  them  on.  And  a  helmet  of  invisibility! 
How  could  a  helmet  make  him  invisible,  unless 
it  were  big  enough  for  him  to  hide  under  it? 
And  an  enchanted  wallet!  What  sort  of  a 
contrivance  may  that  be,  I  wonder?  No,  no, 
good  stranger!  we  can  tell  you  nothing  of  these 
marvellous  things.  You  have  two  eyes  of  your 
own,  and  we  have  but  a  single  one  amongst  us 
three.  You  can  find  out  such  wonders  better 
than  three  blind  old  creatures,  like  us." 

Perseus,  hearing  them  talk  in  this  way,  began 
really  to  think  that  the  Gray  Women  knew 
nothing  of  the  matter;  and,  as  it  grieved  him  to 
have  put  them  to  so  much  trouble,  he  was  just 
on  the  point  of  restoring  their  eye,  and  asking 
pardon  for  his  rudeness  in  snatching  it  away. 
But  Quicksilver  caught  his  hand. 

"Don't  let  them  make  a  fool  of  you!"  said 


38  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

he.  "These  Three  Gray  Women  are  the  only 
persons  in  the  world  that  can  tell  you  where  to 
find  the  Nymphs;  and,  unless  you  get  that 
information,  you  will  never  succeed  in  cutting 
off  the  head  of  Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks. 
Keep  fast  hold  of  the  eye,  and  all  will  go  well." 

As  it  turned  out,  Quicksilver  was  in  the  right. 
There  are  but  few  things  that  people  prize  so 
much  as  they  do  their  eyesight;  and  the  Gray 
Women  valued  their  single  eye  as  highly  as  if 
it  had  been  half  a  dozen,  which  was  the  number 
they  ought  to  have  had.  Finding  that  there 
was  no  other  way  of  recovering  it,  they  at  last 
told  Perseus  what  he  wanted  to  know.  No 
sooner  had  they  done  so,  than  he  immediately, 
and  with  the  utmost  respect,  clapped  the  eye 
into  the  vacant  socket  in  one  of  their  foreheads, 
thanked  them  for  their  kindness,  and  bade  them 
farewell.  Before  the  young  man  was  out  of 
hearing,  however,  they  had  got  into  a  new  dis- 
pute, because  he  happened  to  have  given  the 
eye  to  Scarecrow,  who  had  already  taken  her 
turn  of  it  when  their  trouble  with  Perseus  com- 
menced. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  feared  that  the  Three  Gray 
Women  were  very  much  in  the  habit  of  dis- 
turbing their  mutual  harmony  by  bickerings  of 
this  sort;  which  was  the  more  pity,  as  they 
could  not  conveniently  do  without  one  another, 
and  were  evidently  intended  to  be  inseparable 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  39 

companions.  As  a  general  rule,  I  would  advise 
all  people,  whether  sisters  or  brothers,  old  or 
young,  who  chance  to  have  but  one  eye  amongst 
them,  to  cultivate  forbearance,  and  not  all  insist 
upon  peeping  through  it  at  once. 

Quicksilver  and  Perseus,  in  the  meantime, 
were  making  the  best  of  their  way  in  quest  of 
the  Nymphs.  The  old  dames  had  given  them 
such  particular  directions,  that  they  were  not 
long  in  finding  them  out.  They  proved  to  be 
very  different  persons  from  Nightmare,  Shake- 
joint,  and  Scarecrow;  for,  instead  of  being  old, 
they  were  young  and  beautiful;  and  instead  of 
one  eye  amongst  the  sisterhood,  each  Nymph 
had  two  exceedingly  bright  eyes  of  her  own, 
with  which  she  looked  very  kindly  at  Perseus. 
They  seemed  to  be  acquainted  with  Quicksilver; 
and,  when  he  told  them  the  adventure  which 
Perseus  had  undertaken,  they  made  no  difficulty 
about  giving  him  the  valuable  articles  that  were 
in  their  custody.  In  the  first  place,  they 
brought  out  what  appeared  to  be  a  small  purse, 
made  of  deer  skin,  and  curiously  embroidered, 
and  bade  him  be  sure  and  keep  it  safe.  This 
was  the  magic  wallet.  The  Nymphs  next  pro- 
duced a  pair  of  shoes,  or  slippers,  or  sandals, 
with  a  nice  little  pair  of  wings  at  the  heel  of 
each. 

"Put  them  on,  Perseus,"  said  Quicksilver. 
"You  will  find  yourself  as  light-heeled  as  you 


4o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

can  desire  for  the  remainder  of  our  jour- 
ney." 

So  Perseus  proceeded  to  put  one  of  the  slippers 
on,  while  he  laid  the  other  on  the  ground  by  his 
side.  Unexpectedly,  however,  this  other  slip- 
per spread  its  wings,  fluttered  off  the  ground, 
and  would  probably  have  flown  away,  if  Quick- 
silver had  not  made  a  leap,  and  luckily  caught 
it  in  the  air. 

"  Be  more  careful,"  said  he,  as  he  gave  it  back 
to  Perseus.  "It  would  frighten  the  birds  up 
aloft,  if  they  should  see  a  flying  slipper  amongst 
them." 

When  Perseus  had  got  on  both  of  these  won- 
derful slippers,  he  was  altogether  too  buoyant 
to  tread  on  earth.  Making  a  step  or  two,  lo  and 
behold!  upward  he  popped  into  the  air,  high 
above  the  heads  of  Quicksilver  and  the  Nymphs, 
and  found  it  very  difficult  to  clamber  down 
again.  Winged  slippers,  and  all  such  high- 
flying contrivances,  are  seldom  quite  easy  to 
manage  until  one  grows  a  little  accustomed  to 
them.  Quicksilver  laughed  at  his  companion's 
involuntary  activity,  and  told  him  that  he  must 
not  be  in  so  desperate  a  hurry,  but  must  wait 
for  the  invisible  helmet. 

The  good-natured  Nymphs  had  the  helmet, 
with  its  dark  tuft  of  waiving  plumes,  all  in  readi- 
ness to  put  upon  his  head.  And  now  there 
happened  about  as  wonderful  an  incident  as 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  41 

anything  that  I  have  yet  told  you.  The  instant 
before  the  helmet  was  put  on,  there  stood 
Perseus,  a  beautiful  young  man,  with  golden 
ringlets  and  rosy  cheeks,  the  crooked  sword  by 
his  side,  and  the  brightly  polished  shield  upon 
his  arm, — a  figure  that  seemed  all  made  up  of 
courage,  sprightliness,  and  glorious  light.  But 
when  the  helmet  had  descended  over  his  white 
brow,  there  was  no  longer  any  Perseus  to  be 
seen!  Nothing  but  empty  air!  Even  the  hel- 
met, that  covered  him  with  its  invisibility,  had 
vanished ! 

"Where  are  you,  Perseus?"  asked  Quick- 
silver. 

"Why,  here,  to  be  sure!"  answered  Perseus, 
very  quietly,  although  his  voice  seemed  to  come 
out  of  the  transparent  atmosphere.  "Just 
where  I  was  a  moment  ago.  Don't  you  see 
me?" 

"No,  indeed!"  answered  his  friend.  "You 
are  hidden  under  the  helmet.  But,  if  I  cannot 
see  you,  neither  can  the  Gorgons.  Follow  me, 
therefore,  and  we  will  try  your  dexterity  in 
using  the  winged  slippers." 

With  these  words,  Quicksilver's  cap  spread 
its  wings,  as  if  his  head  were  about  to  fly  away 
from  his  shoulders;  but  his  whole  figure  rose 
lightly  into  the  air,  and  Perseus  followed.  By 
the  time  they  had  ascended  a  few  hundred  feet, 
the  young  man  began  to  feel  what  a  delightful 


42  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

thing  it  was  to  leave  the  dull  earth  so  far  beneath 
him,  and  to  be  able  to  flit  about  like  a 
bird. 

It  was  now  deep  night.  Perseus  looked 

upward,  and  saw  the  round,  bright,  silvery  moon, 
and  thought  that  he  should  desire  nothing  better 
than  to  soar  up  thither,  and  spend  his  life  there. 
Then  he  looked  downward  again,  and  saw  the 
earth,  with  its  seas  and  lakes,  and  the  silver 
courses  of  its  rivers,  and  its  snowy  mountain- 
peaks,  and  the  breadth  of  its  fields,  and  the 
dark  cluster  of  its  woods,  and  its  cities  of  white 
marble;  and,  with  the  moonshine  sleeping  over 
the  whole  scene,  it  was  as  beautiful  as  the  moon 
or  any  star  could  be.  And,  among  other  objects, 
he  saw  the  island  of  Seriphus,  where  his  dear 
mother  was.  Sometimes  he  and  Quicksilver 
approached  a  cloud,  that,  at  a  distance,  looked 
as  if  it  were  made  of  fleecy  silver;  although,  when 
they  plunged  into  it,  they  found  themselves 
chilled  and  moistened  with  gray  mist.  So  swift 
was  their  flight,  however,  that,  in  an  instant, 
they  emerged  from  the  cloud  into  the  moon- 
light again.  Once,  a  high-soaring  eagle  flew 
right  against  the  invisible  Perseus.  The  bravest 
sights  were  the  meteors,  that  gleamed  suddenly 
out,  as  if  a  bonfire  had  been  kindled  in  the 
sky,  and  made  the  moonshine  pale  for  as  much 
as  a  hundred  miles  around  them. 

As  the  two  companions  flew  onward,  Perseus 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  43 

fancied  that  he  could  hear  the  rustle  of  a  gar- 
ment close  by  his  side;  and  it  was  on  the  side 
opposite  to  the  one  where  he  beheld  Quicksilver, 
yet  only  Quicksilver  was  visible. 

"Whose  garment  is  this,"  inquired  Perseus, 
"  that  keeps  rustling  close  beside  me  in  the 
breeze?" 

"Oh,  it  is  my  sister's!"  answered  Quick- 
silver. "  She  is  coming  along  with  us,  as  I  told 
you  she  would.  We  could  do  nothing  without 
the  help  of  my  sister.  You  have  no  idea  how 
wise  she  is.  She  has  such  eyes,  too!  Why, 
she  can  see  you,  at  this  moment,  just  as  dis- 
tinctly as  if  you  were  not  invisible;  and  I'll 
venture  to  say,  she  will  be  the  first  to  discover 
the  Gorgons." 

By  this  time,  in  their  swift  voyage  through 
the  air,  they  had  come  within  sight  of  the  great 
ocean,  and  were  soon  flying  over  it.  Far  beneath 
them,  the  waves  tossed  themselves  tumultuously 
in  mid-sea,  or  rolled  a  white  surf-line  upon  the 
long  beaches,  or  foamed  against  the  rocky  cliffs, 
with  a  roar  that  was  thunderous,  in  the  lower 
world;  although  it  became  a  gentle  murmur, 
like  the  voice  of  a  baby  half  asleep,  before  it 
reached  the  ears  of  Perseus.  Just  then  a  voice 
spoke  in  the  air  close  by  him.  It  seemed  to  be 
a  woman's  voice,  and  was  melodious,  though 
not  exactly  what  might  be  called  sweet,  but 
grave  and  mild. 


44  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Perseus,"  said  the  voice,  "there  are  the 
Gorgons." 

"Where?"  exclaimed  Perseus.  "I  cannot 
see  them." 

"On  the  shore  of  that  island  beneath  you," 
replied  the  voice.  "  A  pebble,  dropped  from 
your  hand,  would  strike  in  the  midst  of  them." 

"  I  told  you  she  would  be  the  first  to  discover 
them,"  said  Quicksilver  to  Perseus.  "And 
there  they  are!" 

Straight  downward,  two  or  three  thousand 
feet  below  him,  Perseus  perceived  a  small  island, 
with  the  sea  breaking  into  white  foam  all  around 
its  rocky  shore,  except  on  one  side,  where  there 
was  a  beach  of  snowy  sand.  Pie  descended 
towards  it,  and,  looking  earnestly  at  a  cluster 
or  heap  of  brightness,  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice 
of  black  rocks,  behold,  there  were  the  terrible 
Gorgons!  They  lay  fast  asleep,  soothed  by  the 
thunder  of  the  sea ;  for  it  required  a  tumult  that 
would  have  deafened  everybody  else  to  lull 
such  fierce  creatures  into  slumber.  The  moon- 
light glistened  on  their  steely  scales,  and  on 
their  golden  wings,  which  drooped  idly  over 
the  sand.  Their  brazen  claws,  horrible  to  look 
at,  were  thrust  out,  and  clutched  the  wave- 
beaten  fragments  of  rock,  while  the  sleeping 
Gorgons  dreamed  of  tearing  some  poor  mortal 
all  to  pieces.  The  snakes  that  served  them 
instead  of  hair  seemed  likewise  to  be  asleep; 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  45 

although,  now  and  then,  one  would  writhe,  and 
lift  its  head,  and  thrust  out  its  forked  tongue, 
emitting  a  drowsy  hiss,  and  then  let  itself  sub- 
side among  its  sister  snakes. 

The  Gorgons  were  more  like  an  awful,  gigantic 
kind  of  insect,  —  immense,  golden- winged 
beetles,  or  dragon-flies,  or  things  of  that  sort, 
■ — at  once  ugly  and  beautiful, — than  like  any- 
thing else;  only  that  they  were  a  thousand  and 
a  million  times  as  big.  And,  with  all  this,  there 
was  something  partly  human  about  them,  too. 
Luckily  for  Perseus,  their  faces  were  completely 
hidden  from  him  by  the  posture  in  which  they 
lay ;  for,  had  he  but  looked  one  instant  at  them, 
he  would  have  fallen  heavily  out  of  the  air,  an 
image  of  senseless  stone. 

"Now,"  whispered  Quicksilver,  as  he  hovered 
by  the  side  of  Perseus, — "now  is  your  time  to 
do  the  deed!  Be  quick;  for,  if  one  of  the  Gor- 
gons should  awake,  you  are  too  late!" 

"Which  shall  I  strike  at?"  asked  Perseus> 
drawing  his  sword  and  descending  a  little 
lower.  "They  all  three  look  alike.  All  three 
have  snaky  locks.  Which  of  the  three  is 
Medusa?" 

It  must  be  understood  that  Medusa  was  the 
only  one  of  these  dragon-monsters  whose  head 
Perseus  could  possibly  cut  off.  As  for  the  other 
two,  let  him  have  the  sharpest  sword  that  ever 
was  forged,  and  he  might  have  hacked  away  by 


46  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

the  hour  together,  without  doing  them  the 
least  harm. 

"  Be  cautious,"  said  the  calm  voice  which  had 
before  spoken  to  him.  "  One  of  the  Gorgons 
is  stirring  in  her  sleep,  and  is  just  about  to  turn 
over.  That  is  Medusa.  Do  not  look  at  her! 
The  sight  would  turn  you  to  stone!  Look  at 
the  reflection  of  her  face  and  figure  in  the  bright 
mirror  of  your  shield." 

Perseus  now  understood  Quicksilver's  motive 
for  so  earnestly  exhorting  him  to  polish  his 
shield.  In  its  surface  he  could  safely  look  at 
the  reflection  of  the  Gorgon's  face.  And  there 
it  was, — that  terrible  countenance, — mirrored 
in  the  brightness  of  the  shield,  with  the  moon- 
light falling  over  it,  and  displaying  all  its  horror. 
The  snakes,  whose  venomous  natures  could 
not  altogether  sleep,  kept  twisting  themselves 
over  the  forehead.  It  was  the  fiercest  and  most 
horrible  face  that  ever  was  seen  or  imagined, 
and  yet  with  a  strange,  fearful,  and  savage  kind 
of  beauty  in  it.  The  eyes  were  closed,  and  the 
Gorgon  was  still  in  a  deep  slumber;  but  there 
was  an  unquiet  expression  disturbing  her  fea- 
tures, as  if  the  monster  was  troubled  with  an 
ugly  dream.  She  gnashed  her  white  tusks,  and 
dug  into  the  sand  with  her  brazen  claws. 

The  snakes,  too,  seemed  to  feel  Medusa's 
dream,  and  to  be  made  more  restless  by  it.  They 
twined    themselves    into    tumultuous    knots, 


The  small,   embroidered  wallet   .  .  .  grew  fill  al  once  large  enough  ge  ''' 

to  contain  Medusa's  head 


/ 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  47 

writhed  fiercely,  and  uplifted  a  hundred  hissing 
heads,  without  opening  their  eyes. 

"Now,  now!"  whispered  Quicksilver,  who 
was  growing  impatient.  "  Make  a  dash  at  the 
monster ! ' ' 

"But  be  calm,"  said  the  grave,  melodious 
voice,  at  the  young  man's  side.  "  Look  in  your 
shield,  as  you  fly  downward,  and  take  care  that 
you  do  not  miss  your  first  stroke." 

Perseus  flew  cautiously  downward,  still  keep- 
ing his  eyes  on  Medusa's  face,  as  reflected  in  his 
shield.  The  nearer  he  came,  the  more  terrible 
did  the  snaky  visage  and  metallic  body  of  the 
monster  grow.  At  last,  when  he  found  himself 
hovering  over  her  within  arm's  length,  Perseus 
uplifted  his  sword,  while  at  the  same  instant, 
each  separate  snake  upon  the  Gorgon's  head 
stretched  threateningly  upward,  and  Medusa 
unclosed  her  eyes.  But  she  awoke  too  late. 
The  sword  was  sharp;  the  stroke  fell  like  a 
lightning-flash;  and  the  head  of  the  wicked 
Medusa  tumbled  from  her  body. 

' '  Admirably  done ! ' '  cried  Quicksilver.  ' '  Make 
haste,  and  clap  the  head  into  your  magic 
wallet." 

To  the  astonishment  of  Perseus,  the  small, 
embroidered  wallet,  which  he  had  hung  about 
his  neck,  and  which  had  hitherto  been  no  bigger 
than  a  purse,  grew  all  at  once  large  enough  to 
contain  Medusa's  head.  As  quick  as  thought, 
4 


48  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

he  snatched  it  up,  with  the  snakes  still  writhing 
upon  it,  and  thrust  it  in. 

"Your  task  is  done,"  said  the  calm  voice. 
"  Now  fly ;  for  the  other  Gorgons  will  do  their 
utmost  to  take  vengeance  for  Medusa's  death." 

It  was,  indeed,  necessary  to  take  flight;  for 
Perseus  had  not  done  the  deed  so  quietly  but 
that  the  clash  of  his  sword,  and  the  hissing  of 
the  snakes,  and  the  thump  of  Medusa's  head 
as  it  tumbled  upon  the  sea-beaten  sand,  awoke 
the  other  two  monsters.  There  they  sat,  for 
an  instant,  sleepily  rubbing  their  eyes  with  their 
brazen  fingers,  while  all  the  snakes  on  their 
heads  reared  themselves  on  end  with  surprise, 
and  with  venomous  malice  against  they  knew 
not  what.  But  when  the  Gorgons  saw  the 
scaly  carcass  of  Medusa,  headless,  and  her  golden 
wings  all  ruffled,  and  half  spread  out  on  the 
sand,  it  was  really  awful  to  hear  what  yells  and 
screeches  they  set  up.  And  then  the  snakes! 
They  sent  forth  a  hundred-fold  hiss,  with  one 
consent,  and  Medusa's  snakes  answered  them 
out  of  the  magic  wallet. 

No  sooner  were  the  Gorgons  broad  awake  than 
they  hurtled  upward  into  the  air,  brandishing 
their  brass  talons,  gnashing  their  horrible  tusks, 
and  flapping  their  huge  wings  so  wildly,  that 
some  of  the  golden  feathers  were  shaken  out, 
and  floated  down  upon  the  shore.  And  there, 
perhaps,  those  very  feathers  lie  scattered,  till 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  49 

this  day.  Up  rose  the  Gorgons,  as  I  tell  you, 
staring  horribly  about,  in  hopes  of  turning 
somebody  to  stone.  Had  Perseus  looked  them 
in  the  face,  or  had  he  fallen  into  their  clutches, 
his  poor  mother  would  never  have  kissed  her 
boy  again!  But  he  took  good  care  to  turn  his 
eyes  another  way;  and,  as  he  wore  the  helmet 
of  invisibility,  the  Gorgons  knew  not  in  what 
direction  to  follow  him ;  nor  did  he  fail  to  make 
the  best  use  of  the  winged  slippers,  by  soaring 
upward  a  perpendicular  mile  or  so.  At  that 
height,  when  the  screams  of  those  abominable 
creatures  sounded  faintly  beneath  him,  he  made 
a  straight  course  for  the  island  of  Seriphus, 
in  order  to  carry  Medusa's  head  to  King  Poly- 
dectes. 

I  have  no  time  to  tell  you  of  several  marvel- 
lous things  that  befell  Perseus,  on  his  way 
homeward;  such  as  his  killing  a  hideous  sea- 
monster,  just  as  it  was  on  the  point  of  devouring 
a  beautiful  maiden;  nor  how  he  changed  an 
enormous  giant  into  a  mountain  of  stone,  merely 
by  showing  him  the  head  of  the  Gorgon.  If 
you  doubt  this  latter  story,  you  may  make  a 
voyage  to  Africa,  some  day  or  other,  and  see  the 
very  mountain,  which  is  still  known  by  the 
ancient  giant's  name. 

Finally  our  brave  Perseus  arrived  at  the 
island,  where  he  expected  to  see  his  dear  mother, 
But,  during  his  absence,  the  wicked  king  had 


5o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

treated  Danae  so  very  ill  that  she  was  compelled 
to  make  her  escape,  and  had  taken  refuge  in  a 
temple,  where  some  good  old  priests  were 
extremely  kind  to  her.  These  praiseworthy 
priests,  and  the  kind-hearted  fisherman,  who 
had  first  shown  hospitality  to  Danae  and  little 
Perseus  when  he  found  them  afloat  in  the  chest, 
seem  to  have  been  the  only  persons  on  the 
island  who  cared  about  doing  right.  All  the  rest 
of  the  people,  as  well  as  King  Polydectes  him- 
self, were  remarkably  ill-behaved,  and  deserved 
no  better  destiny  than  that  which  was  now  to 
happen. 

Not  finding  his  mother  at  home,  Perseus  went 
straight  to  the  palace,  and  was  immediately 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  King.  Poly- 
dectes was  by  no  means  rejoiced  to  see  him; 
for  he  had  felt  almost  certain  in  his  own  evil 
mind,  that  the  Gorgons  would  have  torn  the 
poor  young  man  to  pieces,  and  have  eaten  him 
up,  out  of  the  way.  However,  seeing  him  safely 
returned,  he  put  the  best  face  he  could  upon  the 
matter  and  asked  Perseus  how  he  had  succeeded. 

"Have  you  performed  your  promise?" 
inquired  he.  "  Have  you  brought  me  the  head 
of  Medusa  with  the  snaky  locks?  If  not,  young 
man,  it  will  cost  you  dear;  for  I  must  have  a 
bridal  present  for  the  beautiful  Princess  Hippo- 
damia.  and  there  is  nothing  else  that  she  would 
admire  so  mucn. 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  51 

"Yes,  please  your  Majesty,"  answered  Per- 
seus, in  a  quiet  way,  as  if  it  were  no  very  wonder- 
ful deed  for  such  a  young  man  as  he  to  perform. 
"  I  have  brought  you  the  Gorgon's  head,  snaky 
locks  and  all ! " 

"Indeed!  Pray  let  me  see  it,"  quoth  King 
Polydectes.  "  It  must  be  a  very  curious  spec- 
tacle, if  all  that  travellers  tell  about  it  be  true!" 

"Your  Majesty  is  in  the  right,"  replied 
Perseus.  "It  is  really  an  object  that  will  be 
pretty  certain  to  fix  the  regards  of  all  who  look 
at  it.  And,  if  your  Majesty  think  fit,  I  would 
suggest  that  a  holiday  be  proclaimed,  and  that 
all  your  Majesty's  subjects  be  summoned  to 
behold  this  wonderful  curiosity.  Few  of  them, 
I  imagine,  have  seen  a  Gorgon's  head  before, 
and  perhaps  never  may  again!" 

The  king  well  knew  that  his  subjects  were  an 
idle  set  of  reprobates,  and  very  fond  of  sight- 
seeing, as  idle  persons  usually  are.  So  he  took 
the  young  man's  advice,  and  sent  out  heralds 
and  messengers,  in  all  directions,  to  blow  the 
trumpet  at  the  street  corners,  and  in  the  market- 
places, and  wherever  two  roads  met,  and 
summon  everybody  to  court.  Thither,  accord- 
ingly, came  a  great  multitude  of  good-for- 
nothing  vagabonds,  all  of  whom,  out  of  pure 
love  of  mischief,  would  have  been  glad  if  Perseus 
had  met  with  some  ill-hap  in  his  encounter  with 
the  Gorgons.     If  there  were  any  better  people 


52  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

in  the  island  (as  I  really  hope  there  may  have 
been,  although  the  story  tells  nothing  about  any 
such),  they  stayed  quietly  at  home,  minding 
their  business,  and  taking  care  of  their  little 
children.  Most  of  the  inhabitants,  at  all  events, 
ran  as  fast  as  they  could  to  the  palace,  and 
shoved,  and  pushed,  and  elbowed  one  another, 
in  their  eagerness  to  get  near  a  balcony,  on 
which  Perseus  showed  himself,  holding  the 
embroidered  wallet  in  his  hand. 

On  a  platform,  within  full  view  of  the  balcony , 
sat  the  mighty  King  Polydectes,  amid  his  evil 
counsellors,  and  with  his  flattering  courtiers  in 
a  semicircle  round  about  him.  Monarch,  coun- 
sellors, courtiers,  and  subjects,  all  gazed  eagerly 
towards  Perseus. 

"Show  us  the  head!  Show  us  the  head!" 
shouted  the  people;  and  there  was  a  fierceness 
in  their  cry  as  if  they  would  tear  Perseus  to 
pieces,  unless  he  should  satisfy  them  with  what 
he  had  to  show.  "  Show  us  the  head  of  Medusa 
with  the  snaky  locks ! ' ' 

A  feeling  of  sorrow  and  pity  came  over  the 
youthful  Perseus. 

"O  King  Polydectes,"  cried  he,  "and  ye 
many  people,  I  am  very  loath  to  show  you  the 
Gorgon's  head!" 

"Ah,  the  villian  and  coward!"  yelled  the 
people  more  fiercely  than  before.  "  He  is 
making  game  of  us!     He  has  no  Gorgon's  head! 


THE  GORGON'S  HEAD.  53 

Show  us  the  head,  if  you  have  it,  or  we  will  take 
your  own  head  for  a  football ! ' ' 

The  evil  counsellors  whispered  bad  advice  in 
the  king's  ear;  the  courtiers  murmured,  with 
one  consent,  that  Perseus  had  shown  disrespect 
to  their  royal  lord  and  master;  and  the  great 
King  Polydectes  himself  waived  his  hand,  and 
ordered  him,  with  the  stern,  deep  voice  of 
authority,  on  his  peril,  to  produce  the  head. 

"  Show  me  the  Gorgon's  head,  or  I  will  cut 
off  your  own!" 

And  Perseus  sighed. 

"This  instant,"  repeated  Polydectes,  "or 
you  die!" 

"Behold  it,  then!"  cried  Perseus,  in  a  voice 
like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet. 

And  suddenly,  holding  up  the  head,  not  an 
eyelid  had  time  to  wink  before  the  wicked  King 
Polydectes,  his  evil  counsellors,  and  all  his  fierce 
subjects  were  no  longer  anything  but  the  mere 
images  of  a  monarch  and  his  people.  They  were 
all  fixed  forever,  in  the  look  and  attitude  of  that 
moment!  At  the  first  glimpse  of  the  terrible 
head  of  Medusa,  they  whitened  into  marble! 
And  Perseus  thrust  the  head  back  into  his 
wallet,  and  went  to  tell  his  dear  mother  that  she 
need  no  longer  be  afraid  of  the  wicked  King 
Polydectes. 


TANGLEWOOD  PORCH. 

AFTER   THE    STORY. 

"Was  not  that  a  very  fine  story?"  asked 
Eustace. 

"Oh  yes,  yes!"  cried  Cowslip,  clapping  her 
hands.  "And  those  funny  old  women,  with 
only  one  eye  amongst  them!  I  never  heard  of 
anything  so  strange." 

"As  to  their  one  tooth,  which  they  shifted 
about,"  observed  Primrose,  "there  was  nothing 
so  very  wonderful  in  that.  I  suppose  it  was  a 
false  tooth.  But  think  of  your  turning  Mercury 
into  Quicksilver,  and  talking  about  his  sister. 
You  are  too  ridiculous ! ' ' 

"And  was  she  not  his  sister?"  asked  Eustace 
Bright.  "  If  I  had  thought  of  it  sooner,  I  would 
have  described  her  as  a  maiden  lady,  who  kept 
a  pet  owl!" 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  Primrose,  "your 
story  seems  to  have  driven  away  the  mist." 

And,  indeed,  while  the  tale  was  going  forward, 
the  vapors  had  been  quite  exhaled  from  the 
landscape.  A  scene  was  now  disclosed  which 
the  spectators  might  almost  fancy  as  having 
been  created  since  they  had  last  looked  in  the 

54 


TANGLEWOOD  PORCH.  55 

direction  where  it  lay.  About  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant, in  the  lap  of  the  valley,  now  appeared  a 
beautiful  lake,  which  reflected  a  perfect  image 
of  its  own  wooded  banks,  and  of  the  summits  of 
the  more  distant  hills.  It  gleamed  in  glassy 
tranquillity,  without  the  trace  of  a  winged  breeze 
on  any  part  of  its  bosom.  Beyond  its  farther 
shore  was  Monument  Mountain,  in  a  recumbent 
position,  stretching  almost  across  the  valley. 
Eustace  Bright  compared  it  to  a  huge,  headless 
Sphinx,  wrapped  in  a  Persian  shawl ;  and,  indeed, 
so  rich  and  diversified  was  the  autumnal  foliage 
of  its  woods,  that  the  simile  of  the  shawl  was 
by  no  means  too  high-colored  for  the  reality. 
In  the  lower  ground,  between  Tanglewood 
and  the  lake,  the  clumps  of  trees  and 
borders  of  woodland  were  chiefly  golden- 
leaved  or  dusky  brown,  as  having  suffered 
more  from  frost  than  the  foliage  on  the  hill- 
sides. 

Over  all  this  scene  there  was  a  genial  sunshine, 
intermingled  with  a  slight  haze,  which  made  it 
unspeakably  soft  and  tender.  Oh,  what  a  day 
of  Indian  summer  was  it  going  to  be!  The 
children  snatched  their  baskets,  and  set  forth, 
with  hop,  skip,  and  jump,  and  all  sorts  of  frisks 
and  gambols;  while  Cousin  Eustace  proved  his 
fitness  to  preside  over  the  party  by  outdoing  all 
their  antics,  and  performing  several  new  capers, 
which  none  of  them  could  ever  hope  to  imitate. 


56 


A  WONDER-BOOK. 


Behind  went  a  good  old  dog,  whose  name  was 
Ben.  He  was  one  of  the  most  respectable  and 
kind-hearted  of  quadrupeds,  and  probably  felt 
it  to  be  his  duty  not  to  trust  the  children  away 
from  their  parents  without  some  better  guardian 
than  this  feather-brained  Eustace  Bright. 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH. 


SHADOW  BROOK. 

INTRODUCTORY   TO    "THE   GOLDEN   TOUCH." 

At  noon,  our  juvenile  party  assembled  in  a 
dell,  through  the  depths  of  which  ran  a  little 
brook.  The  dell  was  narrow,  and  its  steep  sides, 
from  the  margin  of  the  stream  upward,  were 
thickly  set  with  trees,  chiefly  walnuts  and  chest- 
nuts, among  which  grew  a  few  oaks  and  maples. 
In  the  summer  time,  the  shade  of  so  many  clus- 
tering branches,  meeting  and  intermingling 
across  the  rivulet,  was  deep  enough  to  produce  a 
noontide  twilight.  Hence  came  the  name  of 
Shadow  Brook.  But  now,  ever  since  autumn 
had  crept  into  this  secluded  place,  all  the  dark 
verdure  was  changed  to  gold,  so  that  it  really 
kindled  up  the  dell,  instead  of  shading  it.  The 
bright  yellow  leaves,  even  had  it  been  a  cloudy 
day,  would  have  seemed  to  keep  the  sunlight 
among  them;  and  enough  of  them  had  fallen  to 
strew  all  the  bed  and  margin  of  the  brook  with 
sunlight,  too.  Thus  the  shady  nook,  where 
summer  had  cooled  herself,  was  now  the  sunniest 
spot  anywhere  to  be  found. 

The  little  brook  ran  along  over  its  pathway  of 
gold,  here  pausing  to  form  a  pool,  in  which 

59 


60  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

minnows  were  darting  to  and  fro;  and  then  it 
hurried  onward  at  a  swifter  pace,  as  if  in  haste 
to  reach  the  lake ;  and,  forgetting  to  look  whither 
it  went,  it  tumbled  over  the  root  of  a  tree,  which 
stretched  quite  across  its  current.  You  would 
have  laughed  to  hear  how  noisily  it  babbled 
about  this  accident.  And  even  after  it  had  run 
onward,  the  brook  still  kept  talking  to  itself, 
as  if  it  were  in  a  maze.  It  was  wonder-smitten, 
I  suppose,  at  finding  its  dark  dell  so  illuminated, 
and  at  hearing  the  prattle  and  merriment  of  so 
many  children.  So  it  stole  away  as  quickly  as 
it  could,  and  hid  itself  in  the  lake. 

In  the  dell  of  Shadow  Brook,  Eustace  Bright 
and  his  little  friends  had  eaten  their  dinner. 
They  had  brought  plenty  of  good  things  from 
Tanglewood,  in  their  baskets,  and  had  spread 
them  out  on  the  stumps  of  trees,  and  on  mossy 
trunks,  and  had  feasted  merrily,  and  made  a 
very  nice  dinner  indeed.  After  it  was  over, 
nobody  felt  like  stirring. 

"We  will  rest  ourselves  here,"  said  several  of 
the  children,  "while  Cousin  Eustace  tells  us 
another  of  his  pretty  stories." 

Cousin  Eustace  had  a  good  right  to  be  tired, 
as  well  as  the  children,  for  he  had  performed 
great  feats  on  that  memorable  forenoon.  Dan- 
delion, Clover,  Cowslip,  and  Buttercup  were 
almost  persuaded  that  he  had  winged  slippers, 
like  those  which   the   Nymphs  gave   Perseus; 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  61 

so  often  had  the  student  shown  himself  at  the 
tiptop  of  a  nut-tree,  when  only  a  moment  before 
he  had  been  standing  on  the  ground.  And  then, 
what  showers  of  walnuts  had  he  sent  rattling 
down  upon  their  heads,  for  their  busy  little 
hands  to  gather  into  the  baskets!  In  short, 
he  had  been  as  active  as  a  squirrel  or  a  monkey, 
and  now,  flinging  himself  down  on  the 
yellow  leaves,  seemed  inclined  to  take  a  little 
rest. 

But  children  have  no  mercy  nor  consideration 
for  anybody's  weariness;  and  if  you  had  but  a 
single  breath  left,  they  would  ask  you  to  spend 
it  in  telling  them  a  story. 

"Cousin  Eustace,"  said  Cowslip,  "that  was  a 
very  nice  story  of  the  Gorgon's  Head.  Do  you 
think  you  could  tell  us  another  as  good?" 

"Yes,  child,"  said  Eustace,  pulling  the  brim 
of  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  as  if  preparing  for  a  nap. 
"  I  can  tell  you  a  dozen,  as  good  or  better,  if  I 
choose." 

"  O  Primrose  and  Periwinkle,  do  you  hear 
what  he  says?"  cried  Cowslip,  dancing  with 
delight.  "  Cousin  Eustace  is  going  to  tell  us  a 
dozen  better  stories  than  that  about  the  Gorgon's 
Head!" 

"  I  did  not  promise  you  even  one,  you  foolish 

little    Cowslip!"    said    Eustace,    half    pettishly. 

'  However,  I  suppose  you  must  have  it.     This 

is  the  consequence  of  having  earned  a  reputa- 


62  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

tion!  I  wish  I  were  a  great  deal  duller  than 
I  am,  or  that  I  had  never  shown  half  the  bright 
qualities  with  which  nature  has  endowed  me; 
and  then  I  might  have  my  nap  out,  in  peace  and 
comfort!" 

But  Cousin  Eustace,  as  I  think  I  have  hinted 
before,  was  as  fond  of  telling  his  stories  as  the 
children  of  hearing  them.  His  mind  was  in  a 
free  and  happy  state,  and  took  delight  in  its  own 
activity,  and  scarcely  required  any  external 
impulse  to  set  it  at  work. 

How  different  is  this  spontaneous  play  of  the 
intellect  from  the  trained  diligence  of  maturer 
years,  when  toil  has  perhaps  grown  easy  by  long 
habit,  and  the  day's  work  may  have  become 
essential  to  the  day's  comfort,  although  the 
rest  of  the  matter  has  bubbled  away!  This 
remark,  however,  is  not  meant  for  the  children 
to   hear. 

Without  further  solicitation,  Eustace  Bright 
proceeded  to  tell  the  following  really  splendid 
story.  It  had  come  into  his  mind  as  he  lay 
looking  upward  into  the  depths  of  a  tree,  and 
observing  how  the  touch  of  autumn  had  trans- 
muted every  one  of  its  green  leaves  into  what 
resembled  the  purest  gold.  And  this  change, 
which  we  have  all  of  us  witnessed,  is  as  wonder- 
ful as  anything  that  Eustace  told  about  in  the 
story  of  Midas. 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH. 

Once  upon  a  time,  there  lived  a  very  rich  man, 
and  a  king  besides,  whose  name  was  Midas; 
and  he  had  a  little  daughter,  whom  nobody  but 
myself  ever  heard  of,  and  whose  name  I  either 
never  knew,  or  have  entirely  forgotten.  So 
because  I  love  odd  names  for  little  girl  5,  I  choose 
to  call  her  Marygold. 

This  King  Midas  was  fonder  of  gold  than  of 
anything  else  in  the  world.  He  valued  his  royal 
crown  chiefly  because  it  was  composed  of  that 
precious  metal.  If  he  loved  anything  better, 
or  half  so  well,  it  was  the  one  little  maiden  who 
played  so  merrily  around  her  father's  footstool. 
But  the  more  Midas  loved  his  daughter,  the 
more  did  he  desire  and  seek  for  wealth.  He 
thought,  foolish  man!  that  the  best  thing  he 
could  possibly  do  for  this  dear  child  would  be  to 
bequeath  her  the  immensest  pile  of  yellow, 
glistening  coin,  that  had  ever  been  heaped 
together  since  the  world  was  made.  Thus,  he 
gave  all  his  thoughts  and  all  his  time  to  this  one 
purpose.     If  ever  he  happened  to  gaze  for  an 

5  63 


64  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

instant  at  the  gold-tinted  clouds  of  sunset,  he 
wished  that  they  were  real  gold,  and  that  they 
could  be  squeezed  safely  into  his  strong  box. 
When  little  Marygold  ran  to  meet  him,  with  a 
bunch  of  buttercups  and  dandelions,  he  used  to 
say,  "  Poh,  poh,  child!  If  these  flowers  were 
as  golden  as  they  look,  they  would  be  worth  the 
plucking!" 

And  yet,  in  his  earlier  days,  before  he  was  so 
entirely  possessed  of  this  insane  desire  for  riches, 
King  Midas  had  shown  a  great  taste  for  flowers. 
He  had  planted  a  garden,  in  which  grew  the 
biggest  and  beautifullest  and  sweetest  roses 
that  any  mortal  ever  saw  or  smelt.  These 
roses  were  still  growing  in  the  garden,  as  large, 
as  lovely,  and  as  fragrant,  as  when  Midas  used 
to  pass  whole  hours  in  gazing  at  them,  and  inhal- 
ing their  perfume.  But  now,  if  he  looked  a 
them  at  all,  it  was  only  to  calculate  how  much 
the  garden  would  be  worth  if  each  of  the  innu- 
merable rose-petals  were  a  thin  plate  of  gold. 
And  though  he  once  was  fond  of  music  (in  spite 
of  an  idle  story  about  his  ears,  which  were  said 
to  resemble  those  of  an  ass),  the  only  music  for 
poor  Midas,  now,  was  the  chink  of  one  coin 
against  another. 

At  length  (as  people  always  grow  more  and 
more  foolish,  unless  they  take  care  to  grow  wiser 
and  wiser),  Midas  had  got  to  be  so  exceedingly 
unreasonable,  that  he  could  scarcely  bear  to  see 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  65 

or  touch  any  object  that  was  not  gold.  He 
made  it  his  custom,  therefore,  to  pass  a  large 
portion  of  every  day  in  a  dark  and  dreary  apart- 
ment, under  ground,  at  the  basement  of  his 
palace.  It  was  here  that  he  kept  his  wealth. 
To  this  dismal  hole — for  it  was  little  better  than 
a  dungeon — Midas  betook  himself,  whenever 
he  wanted  to  be  particularly  happy.  Here, 
after  carefully  locking  the  door,  he  would  take  a 
bag  of  gold  coin,  or  a  gold  cup  as  big  as  a  wash- 
bowl, or  a  heavy  golden  bar,  or  a  peck-measure 
of  gold-dust,  and  bring  them  from  the  obscure 
corners  of  the  room  into  the  one  bright  and 
narrow  sunbeam  that  fell  from  the  dungeon-like 
window.  He  valued  the  sunbeam  for  no  other 
reason  but  that  his  treasure  would  not  shine 
without  its  help.  And  then  would  he  reckon 
over  the  coins  in  the  bag;  toss  up  the  bar,  and 
catch  it  as  it  came  down;  sift  the  gold-dust 
through  his  fingers;  look  at  the  funny  image 
of  his  own  face,  as  reflected  in  the  burnished 
circumference  of  the  cup;  and  whisper  to  him- 
self, "  O  Midas,  rich  King  Midas,  what  a  happy 
man  art  thou!"  But  it  was  laughable  to  see 
how  the  image  of  his  face  kept  grinning  at  him, 
out  of  the  polished  surface  of  the  cup.  It 
seemed  to  be  aware  of  his  foolish  behavior,  and 
to  have  a  naughty  inclination  to  make  fun  of 
him. 

Midas  called  himself  a  happy  man  but  felt 


66  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

that  he  was  not  yet  quite  so  happy  as  he  might 
be.  The  very  tiptop  of  enjoyment  would  never 
be  reached,  unless  the  whole  world  were  to 
become  his  treasure-room,  and  be  filled  with 
yellow  metal  which  should  be  all  his  own. 

Now,  I  need  hardly  remind  such  wise  little 
people  as  you  are,  that  in  the  old,  old  times, 
when  King  Midas  was  alive,  a  great  many  things 
came  to  pass,  which  we  should  consider  won- 
derful if  they  were  to  happen  in  our  own  day 
and  country.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  a  great 
many  things  take  place  nowadays,  which  seem 
not  only  wonderful  to  us,  but  at  which  the  people j 
of  old  times  would  have  stared  their  eyes  out. 
On  the  whole,  I  regard  our  own  times  as  the 
strangest  of  the  two;  but,  however  that  may  be, 
I  must  go  on  with  my  story. 

Midas  was  enjoying  himself  in  his  treasure- 
room,  one  day,  as  usual,  when  he  perceived  a 
shadow  fall  over  the  heaps  of  gold;  and,  looking 
suddenly  up,  what  should  he  behold  but  the 
figure  of  a  stranger,  standing  in  the  bright  and 
narrow  sunbeam!  It  was  a  young  man,  with  a 
cheerful  and  ruddy  face.  Whether  it  was  that 
the  imagination  of  King  Midas  threw  a  yellow 
tinge  over  everything,  or  whatever  the  cause 
might  be,  he  could  not  help  fancying  that  the 
smile  with  which  the  stranger  regarded  him  had 
a  kind  of  golden  radiance  in  it.  Certainly, 
although  his  figure    intercepted   the  sunshine, 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  67 

there  was  now  a  brighter  gleam  upon  all  the 
piled-up  treasures  than  before.  Even  the  remot- 
est corners  had  their  share  of  it,  and  were 
lighted  up,  when  the  stranger  smiled,  as  with 
tips  of  flame  and  sparkles  of  fire. 

As  Midas  knew  that  he  had  carefully  turned 
the  key  in  the  lock,  and  that  no  mortal  strength 
could  possibly  break  into  his  treasure-room,  he, 
of  course,  concluded  that  his  visitor  must  be 
something  more  than  mortal.  It  is  no  matter 
about  telling  you  who  he  was.  In  those  days 
when  the  earth  was  comparatively  a  new  affair, 
it  was  supposed  to  be  often  the  resort  of  beings 
endowed  with  supernatural  power,  and  who 
used  to  interest  themselves  in  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  men,  women,  and  children,  half 
playfully,  and  half  seriously.  Midas  had  met 
such  beings  before  now,  and  was  not  sorry  to 
meet  one  of  them  again.  The  stranger's  aspect, 
indeed,  was  so  good-humored  and  kindly,  if  not 
beneficent,  that  it  would  have  been  unreason- 
able to  suspect  him  of  intending  any  mischief. 
It  was  far  more  probable  that  he  came  to  do 
Midas  a  favor.  And  what  could  that  favor  be, 
unless  to  multiply  his  heaps  of  treasure  ? 

The  stranger  gazed  about  the  room;  and 
when  his  lustrous  smile  had  glistened  upon  all 
the  golden  objects  that  were  there,  he  turned 
again  to  Midas. 

"You  are  a  wealthy   man,  friend  Midas!"  he 


68  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

observed.  "  I  doubt  whether  any  other  four 
walls,  on  earth,  contain  so  much  gold  as  you 
have  contrived  to  pile  up  in  this  room." 

"I  have  done  pretty  well, — pretty  well,*' 
answered  Midas,  in  a  discontented  tone.  "  But, 
after  all,  it  is  but  a  trifle,  when  you  consider  that 
it  has  taken  me  my  whole  life  to  get  it  together. 
If  one  could  live  a  thousand  years,  he  might 
have  time  to  grow  rich!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  stranger.  "Then 
you  are  not  satisfied?" 

Midas  shook  his  head. 

"And  pray  what  would  satisfy  you?"  asked 
the  stranger.  "  Merely  for  the  curiosity  of  the 
thing,  I  should  be  glad  to  know." 

Midas  paused  and  meditated.  He  felt  a  pre- 
sentiment that  this  stranger,  with  such  a  golden 
lustre  in  his  good-humored  smile,  had  come 
hither  with  both  the  power  and  the  purpose  of 
gratifying  his  utmost  wishes.  Now,  therefore, 
was  the  fortunate  moment,  when  he  had  but 
to  speak,  and  obtain  whatever  possible,  or 
seemingly  impossible  thing,  it  might  come  into 
his  head  to  ask.  So  he  thought,  and  thought, 
and  thought,  and  heaped  up  one  golden  moun- 
tain upon  another,  in  his  imagination,  without 
being  able  to  imagine  them  big  enough.  At  last 
a  bright  idea  occurred  to  King  Midas.  It  seemed 
really  as  bright  as  the  glistening  metal  which  he 
loved  so  much. 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  69 

Raising  his  head,  he  looked  the  illustrious 
stranger  in  the  face. 

"Well,  Midas,"  observed  his  visitor,  "I  see 
that  you  have  at  length  hit  upon  something 
that  will  satisfy  you.     Tell  me  your  wish." 

"It  is  only  this,"  replied  Midas.  "I  am 
weary  of  collecting  my  treasures  with  so  much 
trouble,  and  beholding  the  heap  so  diminutive, 
after  I  have  done  my  best.  I  wish  everything 
that  I  touch  to  be  changed  to  gold!" 

The  stranger's  smile  grew  so  very  broad,  that 
it  seemed  to  fill  the  room  like  an  outburst  of 
the  sun,  gleaming  into  a  shadowy  dell,  where 
the  yellow  autumnal  leaves — for  so  looked  the 
lumps  and  particles  of  gold — lie  strewn  in  the 
glow  of  light. 

"The  Golden  Touch!"  exclaimed  he.  "You 
certainly  deserve  credit,  friend  Midas,  for  strik- 
ing out  so  brilliant  a  conception.  But  are  you 
quite  sure  that  this  will  satisfy  you?" 

"  How  could  it  fail?"  said  Midas. 

"  And  will  you  never  regret  the  possession  of 
it?" 

"What  could  induce  me?"  asked  Midas.  "I 
ask  nothing  else,  to  render  me  perfectly  happy." 

"Be  it  as  you  wish,  then,"  replied  the  stran- 
ger, waving  his  hand  in  token  of  farewell. 
"  To-morrow,  at  sunrise,  you  will  find  yourself 
gifted  with  the  Golden  Touch." 

The  figure  of  the  stranger  then  became  exceed- 


70  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

ingly  bright,  and  Midas  involuntarily  closed 
his  eyes.  On  opening  them  again,  he  beheld 
only  one  yellow  sunbeam  in  the  room,  and,  all 
around  him,  the  glistening  of  the  precious  metal 
which  he  had  spent  his  life  in  hoarding  up. 

Whether  Midas  slept  as  usual  that  night,  the 
story  does  not  say.  Asleep  or  awake,  however, 
his  mind  was  probably  in  the  state  of  a  child's, 
to  whom  a  beautiful  new  plaything  has  been 
promised  in  the  morning.  At  any  rate,  day 
had  hardly  peeped  over  the  hills,  when  King 
Midas  was  broad  awake,  and,  stretching  his 
arms  out  of  bed,  began  to  touch  the  objects  that 
were  within  reach.  He  was  anxious  to  prove 
whether  the  Golden  Touch  had  really  come, 
according  to  the  stranger's  promise.  So  he 
laid  his  finger  on  a  chair  by  the  bedside,  and  on 
various  other  things,  but  was  grievously  dis- 
appointed to  perceive  that  they  remained  of 
exactly  the  same  substance  as  before.  Indeed, 
he  felt  very  much  afraid  that  he  had  only 
dreamed  about  the  lustrous  stranger,  or  else 
that  the  latter  had  been  making  game  of  him. 
And  what  a  miserable  affair  would  it  be,  if,  after 
all  his  hopes,  Midas  must  content  himself  with 
what  little  gold  he  could  scrape  together  by 
ordinary  means,  instead  of  creating  it  by  a 
touch ! 

All  this  while,  it  was  only  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  with  but  a  streak  of  brightness  along 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  71 

the  edge  of  the  sky,  where  Midas  could  not  see  it. 
He  lay  in  a  very  disconsolate  mood,  regretting 
the  downfall  of  his  hopes,  and  kept  growing 
sadder  and  sadder,  -until  the  earliest  sunbeam 
shone  through  the  window,  and  gilded  the 
ceiling  over  his  head.  It  seemed  to  Midas  that 
this  bright  yellow  sunbeam  was  reflected  in 
rather  a  singular  way  on  the  white  covering  of 
the  bed.  Looking  more  closely,  what  was  his 
astonishment  and  delight,  when  he  found  that 
this  linen  fabric  had  been  transmuted  to  what 
seemed  a  woven  texture  of  the  purest  and 
brightest  gold!  The  Golden  Touch  had  come 
to  him  with  the  first  sunbeam! 

Midas  started  up,  in  a  kind  of  joyful  frenzy, 
and  ran  about  the  room,  grasping  at  everything 
that  happened  to  be  in  his  way.  He  seized  one 
of  the  bed-posts,  and  it  became  immediately  a 
fluted  golden  pillar.  He  pulled  aside  a  window 
curtain,  in  order  to  admit  a  clear  spectacle  of 
the  wonders  which  he  was  performing;  and  the 
tassel  grew  heavy  in  his  hand, — a  mass  of  gold. 
He  took  up  a  book  from  the  table.  At  his  first 
touch,  it  assumed  the  appearance  of  such  a 
splendidly  bound  and  gilt-edged  volume  as  one 
often  meets  with,  nowadays;  but,  on  running 
his  fingers  through  the  leaves,  behold!  it  was  a 
bundle  of  thin  golden  plates,  in  which  all  the 
wisdom  of  the  book  had  grown  illegible.  He 
hurriedly  put  on  his  clothes,  and  was  enrap- 


72  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

tured  to  see  himself  in  a  magnificent  suit  of  gold 
cloth,  which  retained  its  flexibility  and  softness, 
although  it  burdened  him  a  little  with  its  weight. 
He  drew  out  his  handkerchief,  which  little  Mary- 
gold  had  hemmed  for  him.  That  was  likewise 
gold, with  the  dear  child's  neat  and  pretty  stitches 
running  all  along  the  border,  in  gold  thread! 

Somehow  or  other,  this  last  transformation 
did  not  quite  please  King  Midas.  He  would 
rather  that  his  little  daughter's  handiwork 
should  have  remained  just  the  same  as  when  she 
climbed  his  knee  and  put  it  into  his  hand. 

But  it  was  not  worth  while  to  vex  himself 
about  a  trifle.  Midas  now  took  his  spectacles 
from  his  pocket,  and  put  them  on  his  nose,  in 
order  that  he  might  see  more  distinctly  what 
he  was  about.  In  those  days,  spectacles  for 
common  people  had  not  been  invented,  but 
were  already  worn  by  kings;  else,  how  could 
Midas  have  had  any?  To  his  great  perplexity, 
however,  excellent  as  the  glasses  were,  he  dis- 
covered that  he  could  not  possibly  see  through 
them.  But  this  was  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world;  for,  on  taking  them  off,  the  trans- 
parent crystals  turned  out  to  be  plates  of  yellow 
metal,  and,  of  course,  were  worthless  as  spec- 
tacles, though  valuable  as  gold.  It  struck 
Midas,  as  rather  inconvenient  that,  with  all  his 
wealth,  he  could  never  again  be  rich  enough  to 
own  a  pair  of  serviceable  spectacles. 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  73 

"It  is  no  great  matter,  nevertheless,"  said  he 
to  himself,  very  philosophically.  "We  cannot 
expect  any  great  good,  without  its  being  accom- 
panied with  some  small  inconvenience.  The 
Golden  Touch  is  worth  the  sacrifice  of  a  pair  of 
spectacles,  at  least,  if  not  of  one's  very  eyesight. 
My  own  eyes  will  serve  for  ordinary  purposes, 
and  little  Marygold  will  soon  be  old  enough  to 
read  to  me." 

Wise  King  Midas  was  so  exalted  by  his  good 
fortune,  that  the  palace  seemed  not  sufficiently 
spacious  to  contain  him.  He  therefore  went 
downstairs,  and  smiled,  on  observing  that  the 
balustrade  of  the  staircase  became  a  bar  of  bur- 
nished gold,  as  his  hand  passed  over  it,  in  his  de- 
scent. He  lifted  the  door-latch  (it  was  brass  only 
a  moment  ago,  but  golden  when  his  fingers 
quitted  it),  and  emerged  into  the  garden.  Here, 
as  it  happened,  he  found  a  great  number  of  beau- 
tiful roses  in  full  bloom,  and  others  in  all  the 
stages  of  lovely  bud  and  blossom.  Very  deli- 
cious was  their  fragrance  in  the  morning  breeze. 
Their  delicate  blush  was  one  of  the  fairest  sights 
in  the  world;  so  gentle,  so  modest,  and  so  full  of 
sweet  tranquility,  did  these  roses  seem  to  be. 

But  Midas  knew  a  way  to  make  them  far 
more  precious,  according  to  his  way  of  thinking, 
than  roses  had  ever  been  before.  So  he  took 
great  pains  in  going  from  bush  to  bush,  and 
exercised  his  magic  touch  most  indefatigably; 


74  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

until  every  individual  flower  and  bud,  and  even 
the  worms  at  the  heart  of  some  of  them,  were 
changed  to  gold.  By  the  time  this  good  work 
was  completed,  King  Midas  was  summoned  to 
breakfast ;  and  as  the  morning  air  had  given  him 
an  excellent  appetite,  he  made  haste  back  to 
the  palace. 

What  was  usually  a  king's  breakfast  in  the 
days  of  Midas,  I  really  do  not  know,  and  cannot 
stop  now  to  investigate.  To  the  best  of  my 
belief,  however,  on  this  particular  morning,  the 
breakfast  consisted  of  hot  cakes,  some  nice  little 
brook  trout,  roasted  potatoes,  fresh  boiled  eggs, 
and  coffee,  for  King  Midas  himself,  and  a  bowl 
of  bread  and  milk  for  his  daughter  Marygold. 
At  all  events,  this  is  a  breakfast  to  set  before 
a  king;  and,  whether  he  had  it  or  not,  King 
Midas  could  not  have  had  a  better. 

Little  Marygold  had  not  yet  made  her  appear- 
ance. Her  father  ordered  her  to  be  called,  and, 
seating  himself  at  table,  awaited  the  child's 
coming,  in  order  to  begin  his  own  breakfast. 
To  do  Midas  justice,  he  really  loved  his  daughter, 
and  loved  her  so  much  the  more  this  morning 
on  account  of  the  good  fortune  which  had  befall- 
en him.  It  was  not  a  great  while  before  he 
heard  her  coming  along  the  passageway  crying 
bitterly.  This  circumstance  surprised  him, 
because  Marygold  was  one  of  the  cheerfullest 
little  people  whom  you  would  see  in  a  summer's 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  75 

day,  and  hardly  shed  a  thimbleful  of  tears  in 
a  twelvemonth.  When  Midas  heard  her  sobs, 
he  determined  to  put  little  Marygold  into  better 
spirits,  by  an  agreeable  surprise;  so,  leaning 
across  the  table,  he  touched  his  daughter's  bowl 
(which  was  a  China  one,  with  pretty  figures 
all  around  it),  and  transmuted  it  to  gleaming 
gold. 

Meanwhile,  Marygold  slowly  and  disconso- 
lately opened  the  door,  and  showed  herself  with 
her  apron  at  her  eyes,  still  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

"How  now,  my  little  lady!"  cried  Midas. 
"  Pray  what  is  the  matter  with  you  this  bright 
morning  ? ' ' 

Marygold,  without  taking  the  apron  from 
her  eyes,  held  out  her  hand,  in  which  was  one 
of  the  roses  which  Midas  had  so  recently  trans- 
muted. 

"Beautiful!"  exclaimed  her  father.  "And 
what  is  there  in  this  magnificent  golden  rose  to 
make  you  cry?" 

"Ah,  dear  father!"  answered  the  child,  as 
well  as  her  sobs  would  let  her;  "  it  is  not  beauti- 
ful, but  the  ugliest  flower  that  ever  grew!  As 
soon  as  I  was  dressed  I  ran  into  the  garden  to 
gather  some  roses  for  you;  because  I  know  you 
like  them,  and  like  them  the  better  when 
gathered  by  your  little  daughter.  But,  oh  dear, 
dear  me!    What  do  you  think  has  happened? 


76  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Such  a  misfortune!  All  the  beautiful  roses, 
that  smelled  so  sweetly  and  had  so  many  lovely 
blushes,  are  blighted  and  spoilt!  They  are 
grown  quite  yellow,  as  you  see  this  one,  and 
have  no  longer  any  fragrance!  What  can  have 
been  the  matter  with  them?" 

"Poh,  my  dear  little  girl, — pray  don't  cry 
about  it!"  said  Midas,  who  was  ashamed  to 
confess  that  he  himself  had  wrought  the  change 
which  so  greatly  afflicted  her.  "  Sit  down  and 
eat  your  bread  and  milk!  You  will  find  it  easy 
enough  to  exchange  a  golden  rose  like  that 
(which  will  last  hundreds  of  years)  for  an  ordin- 
ary one  which  would  wither  in  a  day." 

"I  don't  care  for  such  roses  as  this!"  cried 
Marygold,  tossing  it  contemptuously  away. 
"It  has  no  smell,  and  the  hard  petals  prick  my 
nose!" 

The  child  now  sat  down  to  table,  but  was  so 
occupied  with  her  grief  for  the  blighted  roses 
that  she  did  not  even  notice  the  wonderful 
transmutation  of  her  China  bowl.  Perhaps  this 
was  all  the  better ;  for  Marygold  was  accustomed 
to  take  pleasure  in  looking  at  the  queer  figures, 
and  strange  trees  and  houses,  that  were  painted 
on  the  circumference  of  the  bowl;  and  these 
ornaments  were  now  entirely  lost  in  the  yellow 
hue  of  the  metal. 

Midas,  meanwhile,  had  poured  out  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  coffee-pot, 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  77 

whatever  metal  it  may  have  been  when  he  took 
it  up,  was  gold  when  he  set  it  down.  He  thought 
to  himself,  that  it  was  rather  an  extravagant 
style  of  splendour,  in  a  king  of  his  simple  habits, 
to  breakfast  off  a  service  of  gold,  and  began 
to  be  puzzled  with  the  difficulty  of  keeping  his 
treasures  safe.  The  cupboard  and  the  kitchen 
would  no  longer  be  a  secure  place  of  deposit  for 
articles  so  valuable  as  golden  bowls  and  coffee- 
pots. 

Amid  these  thoughts,  he  lifted  a  spoonful  of 
coffee  to  his  lips,  and,  sipping  it,  was  astonished 
to  perceive  that,  the  instant  his  lips  touched 
the  liquid,  it  became  molten  gold,  and,  the  next 
mom3nt,  hardened  into  a  lump! 

"  Ha!"  exclaimed  Midas,  rather  aghast. 

"What  is  the  matter,  father?"  asked  little 
Marygold,  gazing  at  him,  with  the  tears  still 
standing  in  her  eyes. 

"  Nothing,  child,  nothing! "  said  Midas.  "  Eat 
your  milk,  before  it  gets  quite  cold." 

He  took  one  of  the  nice  little  trouts  on  his 
plate,  and,  by  way  of  experiment,  touched  its 
tail  with  his  finger.  To  his  horror,  it  was  imme- 
diately transmuted  from  an  admirably  fried 
brook-trout  into  a  gold-fish,  though  not  one  of 
those  gold-fishes  which  people  often  keep  in 
glass  globes,  as  ornaments  for  the  parlor.  No; 
but  it  was  really  a  metallic  fish,  and  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  very  cunningly  made  by  the  nicest 


78  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

goldsmith  in  the  world.  Its  little  bones  were 
now  golden  wires;  its  fins  and  tail  were  thin 
plates  of  gold;  and  there  were  the  marks  of  the 
fork  in  it,  and  all  the  delicate,  frothy  appearance 
of  a  nicely  fried  fish,  exactly  imitated  in  metal. 
A  very  pretty  piece  of  work,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose; only  King  Midas,  just  at  that  moment, 
would  much  rather  have  had  a  real  trout  in  his 
dish  than  this  elaborate  and  valuable  imitation 
of  one. 

"I  don't  quite  see,"  thought  he  himself,  "how 
I  am  to  get  any  breakfast!" 

He  took  one  of  the  smoking  hot  cakes,  and 
had  scarcely  broken  it,  when,  to  his  cruel  morti- 
fication, though  a  moment  before,  it  had  been 
of  the  whitest  wheat,  it  assumed  the  yellow  hue 
of  Indian  meal.  To  say  the  truth,  if  it  had 
really  been  a  hot  Indian  cake,  Midas  would  have 
prized  it  a  good  deal  more  than  he  now  did, 
when  its  solidity  and  increased  weight  made  him 
too  bitterly  sensible  that  it  was  gold.  Almost 
in  despair,  he  helped  himself  to  a  boiled  egg, 
which  immediately  underwent  a  change  similar 
to  those  of  the  trout  and  cake.  The  egg,  indeed, 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  one  of  those 
which  the  famous  goose,  in  the  story-book  was 
in  the  habit  of  laying ;  but  King  Midas  was  the 
only  goose  that  had  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
matter. 

"Well,    this    is   a    quandary!"    thought    he, 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  79 

leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  looking  quite 
enviously  at  little  Marygold,  who  was  now  eating 
her  bread  and  milk  with  great  satisfaction. 
"  Such  a  costly  breakfast  before  me,  and  nothing 
that  can  be  eaten!" 

Hoping  that,  by  dint  of  great  dispatch,  he 
might  avoid  what  he  now  felt  to  be  a  consider- 
able inconvenience,  King  Midas  next  snatched 
a  hot  potato,  and  attempted  to  cram  it  into  his 
mouth,  and  swallow  it  in  a  hurry.  But  the 
Golden  Touch  was  too  nimble  for  him.  He 
found  his  mouth  full,  not  of  mealy  potato,  but 
of  solid  metal,  which  so  burnt  his  tongue  that  he 
roared  aloud,  and,  jumping  up  from  the  table, 
began  to  dance  and  stamp  about  the  room,  both 
with  pain  and  affright. 

"Father,  dear  father!"  cried  little  Marygold, 
who  was  a  very  affectionate  child,  "pray  what 
is  the  matter?     Have  you  burnt  your  mouth?" 

"Ah,  dear  child,"  groaned  Midas,  dolefully, 
"  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  your  poor 
father!" 

And,  truly,  my  dear  little  folks,  did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a  pitiable  case  in  all  your  lives? 
Here  was  literally  the  richest  breakfast  that 
could  be  set  before  a  king,  and  its  very  richness 
made  it  absolutely  good  for  nothing.  The 
poorest  labourer,  sitting  down  to  his  crust  of 
bread  and  cup  of  water,  was  far  better  off  than 
King  Midas,   whose   delicate  food  was  really 

6 


8o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

worth  its  weight  in  gold.  And  what  was  to  be 
done?  Already,  at  breakfast,  Midas  was  excess- 
ively hungry.  Would  he  be  less  so  by  dinner- 
time ?  And  how  ravenous  would  be  his  appetite 
for  supper,  which  must  undoubtedly  consist 
of  the  same  sort  of  indigestible  dishes  as  those 
now  before  him!  How  many  days,  think  you, 
would  he  survive  a  continuance  of  this  rich 
fare? 

These  reflections  so  troubled  wise  King  Midas, 
that  he  began  to  doubt  whether,  after  all, 
riches  are  the  one  desirable  thing  in  the  world, 
or  even  the  most  desirable.  But  this  was  only 
a  passing  thought.  So  fascinated  was  Midas 
with  the  glitter  of  the  yellow  metal,  that  he 
would  still  have  refused  to  give  up  the  Golden 
Touch  for  so  paltry  a  consideration  as  a  break- 
fast. Just  imagine  what  a  price  for  one  meal's 
victuals!  It  would  have  been  the  same  as 
paying  millions  and  millions  of  money  (and  as 
many  millions  more  as  would  take  forever  to 
reckon  up)  for  some  fried  trout,  an  egg,  a  potato, 
a  hot  cake,  and  a  cup  of  coffee ! 

"  It  would  be  quite  too  dear,"  thought  Midas. 

Nevertheless,  so  great  was  his  hunger,  and 
the  perplexity  of  his  situation,  that  he  again 
groaned  aloud,  and  very  grievously  too.  Our 
pretty  Marygold  could  endure  it  no  longer. 
She  sat  a  moment,  gazing  at  her  father,  and 
trying,  with  all  the  might  of  her  little  wits,  to 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  81 

find  out  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  Then, 
with  a  sweet  and  sorrowful  impulse  to  comfort 
him,  she  started  from  her  chair,  and,  running 
to  Midas,  threw  her  arms  affectionately  about 
his  knees.  He  bent  down  and  kissed  her.  He 
felt  that  his  little  daughter's  love  was  worth  a 
thousand  times  more  than  he  had  gained  by  the 
Golden  Touch. 

"My  precious,  precious  Marygold!"  cried  he. 

But  Marygold  made  no  answer. 

Alas,  what  had  he  done?  How  fatal  was 
the  gift  which  the  stranger  bestowed!  The 
moment  the  lips  of  Midas  touched  Marygold's 
forehead,  a  change  had  taken  place.  Her  sweet, 
rosy  face,  so  full  of  affection  as  it  had  been, 
assumed  a  glittering  yellow  color,  with  yellow 
tear-drops  congealing  on  her  cheeks.  Her  beau- 
tiful brown  ringlets  look  the  same  tint. 
Her  soft  and  tender  little  form  grew  hard  and 
inflexible  within  her  father's  encircling  arms. 
Oh,  terrible  misfortune!  The  victim  of  his 
insatiable  desire  for  wealth,  little  Marygold  was 
a  human  child  no  longer,  but  a  golden  statue! 

Yes,  there  she  was,  with  the  questioning  look 
of  love,  grief,  and  pity,  hardened  into  her  face. 
It  was  the  prettiest  and  most  woful  sight  that 
ever  mortal  saw.  All  the  features  and  tokens 
of  Marygold  were  there;  even  the  beloved  little 
dimple  remained  in  her  golden  chin.  But,  the 
more  perfect  was  the  resemblance,  the  greater 


82  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

was  the  father's  agony  at  beholding  this  golden 
image,  which  was  all  that  was  left  him  of  a 
daughter.  It  had  been  a  favorite  phrase  of 
Midas,  whenever  he  felt  particularly  fond  of 
the  child,  to  say  that  she  was  worth  her  weight 
in  gold.  And  now  the  phrase  had  become 
literally  true.  And  now,  at  last,  when  it  was 
too  late,  he  felt  how  infinitely  a  warm  and 
tender  heart,  that  loved  him,  exceeded  in  value 
all  the  wealth  that  could  be  piled  up  betwixt 
the  earth  and  sky! 

It  would  be  too  sad  a  story,  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  how  Midas,  in  the  fullness  of  all  his  gratified 
desires,  began  to  wring  his  hands  and  bemoan 
himself;  and  how  he  could  neither  bear  to  look 
at  Marygold  nor  yet  to  look  away  from  her. 
Except  when  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  image, 
he  could  not  possibly  believe  that  she  was 
changed  to  gold.  But,  stealing  another  glance, 
there  was  the  precious  little  figure,  with  a  yellow 
tear-drop  on  its  yellow  cheek,  and  a  look  so 
piteous  and  tender,  that  it  seemed  as  if  that 
very  expression  must  needs  soften  the  gold, 
and  make  it  flesh  again.  This,  however,  could 
not  be.  So  Midas  had  only  to  wring  his  hands, 
and  to  wish  that  he  were  the  poorest  man  in  the 
wide  world,  if  the  loss  of  all  his  wealth  might 
bring  back  the  faintest  rose-color  to  his  dear 
child's  face. 

While  he  was  in  this  tumult  of  despair,  he 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  83 

suddenly  beheld  a  stranger  standing  near  the 
door.  Midas  bent  down  his  head,  without 
speaking;  for  he  recognised  the  same  figure 
which  had  appeared  to  him  the  day  before,  in 
the  treasure-room,  and  had  bestowed  on  him  this 
disastrous  faculty  of  the  Golden  Touch.  The 
stranger's  countenance  still  wore  a  smile,  which 
seemed  to  shed  a  yellow  lustre  all  about  the 
room,  and  gleamed  on  little  Marygold's  image, 
and  on  the  other  objects  that  had  been  trans- 
muted by  the  touch  of  Midas. 

"Well,  friend  Midas,"  said  the  stranger, 
"pray  how  do  you  succeed  with  the  Golden 
Touch?" 

Midas  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  very  miserable,"  said  he. 

"Very  miserable,  indeed!"  exclaimed  the 
stranger.  "And  how  happens  that?  Have  I 
not  faithfully  kept  my  promise  with  you? 
Have  you  not  everything  that  your  heart 
desired  ? ' ' 

"Gold  is  not  everything,"  answered  Midas. 
"  And  I  have  lost  all  that  my  heart  really  cared 
for." 

"Ah!  So  you  have  made  a  discovery,  since 
yesterday?"  observed  the  stranger.  "Let  us 
see,  then.  Which  of  these  two  things  do  you 
think  is  really  worth  the  most, — the  gift  of 
the  Golden  Touch,  or  one  cup  of  clear  cold 
water?" 


84  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"O  blessed  water!"  exclaimed  Midas.  "It 
will  never  moisten  my  parched  throat  again!" 

"The  Golden  Touch,"  continued  the  stranger, 
"or  a  crust  of  bread?" 

"A  piece  of  bread,"  answered  Midas,  "is 
worth  all  the  gold  on  earth!" 

"The  Golden  Touch,"  asked  the  stranger, 
"or  your  own  little  Marygold,  warm,  soft,  and 
loving  as  she  was  an  hour  ago  ? ' ' 

"Oh  my  child,  my  dear  child!"  cried  poor 
Midas,  wringing  his  hands.  "  I  would  not  have 
given  that  one  small  dimple  in  her  chin  for  the 
power  of  changing  this  whole  big  earth  into  a 
solid  lump  of  gold ! ' ' 

"You  are  wiser  than  you  were,  King  Midas!" 
said  the  stranger,  looking  seriously  at  him. 
"Your  own  heart,  I  perceive,  has  not  been 
entirely  changed  from  flesh  to  gold.  Were  it 
so,  your  case  would  indeed  be  desperate.  But 
you  appear  to  be  still  capable  of  understanding 
that  the  commonest  things,  such  as  lie  within 
everybody's  grasp,  are  more  valuable  than  the 
riches  which  so  many  mortals  sigh  and  struggle 
after.  Tell  me,  now,  do  you  sincerely  desire  to 
rid  yourself  of  this  Golden  Touch? " 

" It  is  hateful  to  me!"  replied  Midas. 

A  fly  settled  on  his  nose,  but  fell  immediately 
to  the  floor;  for  it  too,  had  become  gold.  Midas 
shuddered. 

"Go,  then,"  said  the  stranger,  "and  plunge 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  85 

into  the  river  that  glides  past  the  bottom  of 
your  garden.  Take  likewise  a  vase  of  the  same 
water,  and  sprinkle  it  over  any  object  that  you 
may  desire  to  change  back  again  from  gold  into 
its  former  substance.  If  you  do  this  in  earnest- 
ness and  sincerity,  it  may  possibly  repair  the 
mischief  which  your  avarice  has  occasioned." 

King  Midas  bowed  low;  and  when  he  lifted 
his  head,  the  lustrous  stranger  had  vanished. 

You  will  easily  believe  that  Midas  lost  no 
time  in  snatching  up  a  great  earthen  pitcher 
(but,  alas,  me!  it  was  no  longer  earthen  after 
he  touched  it),  and  hastening  to  the  river-side. 
As  he  scampered  along,  and  forced  his  way 
through  the  shrubbery,  it  was  positively  mar- 
vellous to  see  how  the  foliage  turned  yellow 
behind  him,  as  if  the  autumn  had  been  there, 
and  nowhere  else.  On  reaching  the  river's 
brink,  he  plunged  headlong  in,  without  waiting 
so  much  as  to  pull  off  his  shoes. 

"Poof!  poof!  poof!"  snorted  King  Midas, 
as  his  head  emerged  out  of  the  water.  "Well; 
this  is  really  a  refreshing  bath,  and  I  think  it 
must  have  quite  washed  away  the  Golden 
Touch.     And  now  for  filling  my  pitcher!" 

As  he  dipped  the  pitcher  into  the  water,  it 
gladdened  his  very  heart  to  see  it  change  from 
gold  into  the  same  good,  honest  earthen  vessel 
which  it  had  been  before  he  touched  it.  He 
was  conscious,  also,  of  a  change  within  himself. 


86  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

A  cold,  hard,  and  heavy  weight  seemed  to  have 
gone  out  of  his  bosom.  No  doubt,  his  heart  had 
been  gradually  losing  its  human  substance,  and 
transmuting  itself  into  insensible  metal,  but 
had  now  softened  back  again  into  flesh.  Per- 
ceiving a  violet,  that  grew  on  the  bank  of  the 
river,  Midas  touched  it  with  his  finger,  and 
was  overjoyed  to  find  that  the  delicate  flower 
retained  its  purple  hue,  instead  of  undergo- 
ing a  yellow  blight.  The  curse  of  the  Golden 
Touch  had,  therefore,  really  been  removed  from 
him. 

King  Midas  hastened  back  to  the  palace;  and 
I  suppose,  the  servants  knew  not  what  to  make 
of  it  when  they  saw  their  royal  master  so  care- 
fully bringing  home  an  earthen  pitcher  of  water. 
But  that  water,  which  was  to  undo  all  the 
mischief  that  his  folly  had  wrought,  was  more 
precious  to  Midas  than  an  ocean  of  molten 
gold  could  have  been.  The  first  thing  he  did, 
as  you  need  hardly  be  told,  was  to  sprinkle 
it  by  handfuls  over  the  golden  figure  of  little 
Marygold. 

No  sooner  did  it  fall  on  her  than  you  would 
have  laughed  to  see  how  the  rosy  color  came 
back  to  the  dear  child's  cheek!  and  how  she 
began  to  sneeze  and  sputter! — and  how  aston- 
ished she  was  to  find  herself  dripping  wet,  and 
her  father  still  throwing  more  water  over  her ! 

"Pray  do  not,  dear  father!"  cried  she.     "See 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  87 

how  you  have  wet  my  nice  frock,  which  I  put  on 
only  this  morning! " 

For  Marygold  did  not  know  that  she  had  been 
a  little  golden  statue;  nor  could  she  remember 
anything  that  had  happened  since  the  moment 
when  she  ran  with  outstretched  arms  to  comfort 
poor  King  Midas. 

Her  father  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  tell 
his  beloved  child  how  veiy  foolish  he  had  been, 
but  contented  himself  with  showing  how  much 
wiser  he  had  now  grown.  For  this  purpose,  he 
led  little  Marygold  into  the  garden,  where  he 
sprinkled  all  the  remainder  of  the  water  over 
the  rose-bushes,  and  with  such  good  effect  that 
above  five  thousand  roses  recovered  their  beau- 
tiful bloom.  There  were  two  circumstances, 
however,  which,  as  long  as  he  lived,  used  to  put 
King  Midas  in  mind  of  the  Golden  Touch.  One 
was,  that  the  sands  of  the  river  sparkled  like 
gold;  the  other,  that  little  Marygold's  hair  had 
now  a  golden  tinge,  which  he  had  never  observed 
in  it  before  she  had  been  transmuted  by  the 
effect  of  his  kiss.  This  change  of  hue  was  really 
an  improvement,  and  made  Marygold's  hair 
richer  than  in  her  babyhood. 

When  King  Midas  had  grown  quite  an  old 
man,  and  used  to  trot  Marygold's  children  on 
his  knee,  he  was  fond  of  telling  them  this  mar- 
vellous story,  pretty  much  as  I  have  now  told  it 
to  you.     And  then  he  would  stroke  their  glossy 


88 


A  WONDER-BOOK. 


ringlets,  and  tell  them  that  their  hair,  likewise, 
had  a  rich  shade  of  gold,  which  they  had 
inherited  from  their  mother. 

"  And  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  precious  little 
folks,"  quoth  King  Midas,  diligently  trotting 
the  children  all  the  while,  "ever  since  that 
morning,  I  have  hated  the  very  sight  of  all  other 
gold,  save  this!" 


SHADOW  BROOK. 

AFTER   THE    STORY. 

"Well,  children,"  inquired  Eustace,  who  was 
very  fond  of  eliciting  a  definite  opinion  from 
his  auditors,  "  did  you  ever,  in  all  your  lives, 
listen  to  a  better  story  than  this  of  'the  Golden 
Touch?'" 

'Why,  as  to  the  story  of  King  Midas,"  said 
saucy  Primrose,  "  it  was  a  famous  one  thousands 
of  years  before  Mr.  Eustace  Bright  came  into 
the  world,  and  will  continue  to  be  so  as  long 
after  he  quits  it.  But  some  people  have  what 
we  may  call  'The  Leaden  Touch,'  and  make 
everything  dull  and  heavy  that  they  lay  their 
fingers  upon." 

"  You  are  a  smart  child,  Primrose,  to  be  not 
yet  in  your  teens,"  said  Eustace,  taken  rather 
aback  by  the  piquancy  of  her  criticism.  "  But 
you  well  know,  in  your  naughty  little  heart, 
that  I  have  burnished  the  old  gold  of  Midas  all 
over  anew,  and  have  made  it  shine  as  it  never 
shone  before.  And  then  that  figure  of  Mary- 
gold!     Do  you  perceive  no  nice  workmanship 

89 


go  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

in  that?  And  how  finely  I  have  brought  out 
and  deepened  the  moral!  What  say  you, 
Sweet  Fern,  Dandelion,  Clover,  Periwinkle? 
Would  any  of  you,  after  hearing  this  story,  be 
so  foolish  as  to  desire  the  faculty  of  changing 
things  to  gold?" 

"  I  should  like,"  said  Periwinkle,  a  girl  of  ten, 
"to  have  the  power  of  turning  everything  to 
gold  with  my  right  forefinger;  but,  with  my 
left  forefinger,  I  should  want  the  power  of 
changing  it  back  again,  if  the  first  change  did 
not  please  me.  And  I  know  what  I  would  do 
this   very   afternoon!" 

"Pray  tell  me,"  said  Eustace. 

"Why,"  answered  Periwinkle,  "I  would 
touch  every  one  of  these  golden  leaves  on  the 
trees  with  my  left  forefinger,  and  make  them 
all  green  again;  so  that  we  might  have  the 
summer  back  at  once,  with  no  ugly  winter  in 
the  meantime." 

"O  Periwinkle!"  cried  Eustace  Bright, 
"there  you  are  wrong,  and  would  do  a  great 
deal  of  mischief.  Were  I  Midas,  I  would  make 
nothing  else  but  just  such  golden  days  as  these 
over  and  over  again,  all  the  year  throughout. 
My  best  thoughts  always  come  a  little  too  late. 
Why  did  not  I  tell  you  how  old  King  Midas 
came  to  America,  and  changed  the  dusky 
autumn,  such  as  it  is  in  other  countries,  into 
the  burnished  beauty  which  it  here  puts  on? 


THE  GOLDEN  TOUCH.  91 

He  gilded  the  leaves  of  the  great  volume  of 
Nature." 

"Cousin  Eustace,"  said  Sweet  Fern,  a  good 
little  boy,  who  was  always  making  particular 
inquiries  about  the  precise  height  of  giants 
and  the  littleness  of  fairies,  "how  big  was 
Marygold,  and  how  much  did  she  weigh  after 
she  was  turned  to  gold?" 

"She  was  about  as  tall  as  you  are,"  replied 
Eustace,  "and,  as  gold  is  very  heavy,  she 
weighed  at  least  two  thousand  pounds,  and 
might  have  been  coined  into  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  gold  dollars.  I  wish  Primrose  were 
worth  half  as  much.  Come,  little  people,  let 
us  clamber  out  of  the  dell,  and  look  about  us." 

They  did  so.  The  sun  was  now  an  hour  or 
two  beyond  its  noontide  mark,  and  filled  the 
great  hollow  of  the  valley  with  its  western 
radiance,  so  that  it  seemed  to  be  brimming  with 
mellow  light,  and  to  spill  it  over  the  surrounding 
hill-sides,  like  golden  wine  out  of  a  bowl.  It 
was  such  a  day  that  you  could  not  help  saying 
of  it,  "There  never  was  such  a  day  before!" 
although  yesterday  was  just  such  a  day,  and 
to-morrow  will  be  just  such  another.  Ah,  but 
there  are  very  few  of  them  in  a  twelvemonth's 
circle!  It  is  a  remarkable  peculiarity  of  these 
October  days,  that  each  of  them  seems  to 
occupy  a  great  deal  of  space,  although  the  sun 
rises  rather  tardily  at  that  season  of  the  year, 


92  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

and  goes  to  bed,  as  little  children  ought,  at 
sober  six  o'clock,  or  even  earlier.  We  cannot, 
therefore,  call  the  days  long;  but  they  appear, 
somehow  or  other,  to  make  up  for  their  shortness 
by  their  breadth;  and  when  the  cool  night 
comes,  we  are  conscious  of  having  enjoyed  a 
big  armful  of  life,  since  morning. 

"Come,  children,  come!"  cried  Eustace 
Bright.  "More  nuts,  more  nuts,  more  nuts! 
Fill  all  your  baskets;  and,  at  Christmas  time, 
I  will  crack  them  for  you,  and  tell  you  beautiful 
stories!" 

So  away  they  went;  all  of  them  in  excellent 
spirits,  except  little  Dandelion,  who,  I  am  sorry 
to  tell  you,  had  been  sitting  on  a  chestnut-bur, 
and  was  stuck  as  full  as  a  pincushion  of  its 
prickles.  Dear  me,  how  uncomfortably  he  must 
have  felt! 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN. 


TANGLEWOOD  PLAY-ROOM. 

INTRODUCTORY   TO    "THE    PARADISE   OP 
CHILDREN." 

The  golden  days  of  October  passed  away,  as  so 
many  other  Octobers  have,  and  brown  Novem- 
ber likewise  and  the  greater  part  of  chill  Decem- 
ber, too.  At  last  came  merry  Christmas,  and 
Eustace  Bright  along  with  it,  making  it  all  the 
merrier  by  his  presence.  And,  the  day  aftei 
his  arrival  from  college,  there  came  a  mighty 
snow-storm.  Up  to  this  time,  the  winter  had 
held  back,  and  had  given  us  a  good  many  mild 
days,  which  were  like  smiles  upon  its  wrinkled 
visage.  The  grass  had  kept  itself  green,  in 
sheltered  places,  such  as  the  nooks  of  southern 
hill-slopes,  and  along  the  lee  of  the  stone  fences. 
It  was  but  a  week  or  two  ago,  and  since  the 
beginning  of  the  month,  that  the  children  had 
found  a  dandelion  in  bloom,  on  the  margin  of 
Shadow  Brook,  where  it  glides  out  of  the  dell. 

But  no  more  green  grass  and  dandelions  now. 
This  was  such  a  snow-storm!  Twenty  miles 
of  it  might  have  been  visible  at  once,  between 
the  windows  of  Tanglewood  and  the  dome  of 

95 


96  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Taconic,  had  it  been  possible  to  see  so  far  among 
the  eddying  drifts,  that  whitened  all  the  atmos- 
phere. It  seemed  as  if  the  hills  were  giants, 
and  were  flinging  monstrous  handfuls  of  snow 
at  one  another,  in  their  enormous  sport.  So  thick 
were  the  fluttering  snow-flakes,  that  even  the 
trees,  midway  down  the  valley,  were  hidden  by 
them,  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  Sometimes, 
it  is  true,  the  little  prisoners  of  Tanglewood 
could  discern  a  dim  outline  of  Monument  Moun- 
tain, and  the  smooth  whiteness  of  the  frozen  lake 
at  its  base,  and  the  black  or  gray  tracts  of  wood- 
land in  the  nearer  landscape.  But  these  were 
merely  peeps  through  the  tempest. 

Nevertheless,  the  children  rejoiced  greatly  in 
the  snow-storm.  They  had  already  made  ac- 
quaintance with  it,  by  tumbling  heels  over  head 
into  its  highest  drifts,  and  flinging  snow  at  one 
another,  as  we  have  just  fancied  the  Berkshire 
mountains  to  be  doing.  And  now  they  had 
come  back  to  their  spacious  play-room,  which 
was  as  big  as  the  great  drawing-room,  and  was 
lumbered  with  all  sorts  of  playthings,  large  and 
small.  The  biggest  was  a  rocking-horse  that 
looked  like  a  real  pony;  and  there  was  a  whole 
family  of  wooden,  waxen,  plaster,  and  china 
dolls,  besides  rag-babies;  and  blocks  enough  to 
build  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and  nine-pins, 
and  balls,  and  humming-tops,  and  battledores, 
and  grace-sticks,  and  skipping-ropes,  and  more 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.     97 

of  such  valuable  property  than  I  could  tell  of 
in  a  printed  page.  But  the  children  liked  the 
snow-storm  better  than  them  all.  It  suggested 
so  many  brisk  enjoyments  for  to-morrow,  and 
all  the  remainder  of  the  winter.  The  sleigh- 
ride;  the  slides  down  hill  into  the  valley;  the 
snow-images  that  were  to  be  shaped  out;  the 
snow-fortresses  that  were  to  be  built;  and  the 
snowballing  to  be  carried  on! 

So  the  little  folks  blessed  the  snow-storm,  and 
were  glad  to  see  it  come  thicker,  and  thicker,  and 
watched  hopefully  the  long  drift  that  was  piling 
itself  up  in  the  avenue,  and  was  already  higher 
than  any  of  their  heads. 

"Why,  we  shall  be  blocked  up  till  spring!" 
cried  they,  with  the  hugest  delight.  "What  a 
pity  that  the  house  is  too  high  to  be  quite 
covered  up!  The  little  red  house,  down  yonder, 
will  be  buried  up  to  its  eaves." 

"  You  silly  children,  what  do  you  want  of 
more  snow?"  asked  Eustace,  who,  tired  of 
some  novel  that  he  was  skimming  through, 
had  strolled  into  the  play-room.  "  It  has  done 
mischief  enough  already  by  spoiling  the  only 
skating  that  I  could  hope  for  through  winter. 
We  shall  see  nothing  more  of  the  lake  till  April ; 
and  this  was  to  have  been  my  first  day  upon  it! 
Don't  you  pity  me,  Primrose?" 

"Oh,  to  be  sure1."  answered  Primrose, 
laughing.     "But,    for    your    comfort,    we    will 


98  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

listen  to  another  of  your  old  stories,  such  as  you 
told  us  under  the  porch,  and  down  in  the  hollow, 
by  Shadow  Brook.  Perhaps  I  shall  like  them 
better  now,  when  there  is  nothing  to  do,  than 
while  there  were  nuts  to  be  gathered,  and  beau- 
tiful  weather  to  enjoy." 

Hereupon,  Periwinkle,  Clover,  Sweet  Fern, 
and  as  many  others  of  the  little  fraternity  and 
cousinhood  as  were  still  at  Tanglewood,  gathered 
about  Eustace,  and  earnestly  besought  him  for 
a  story.  The  student  yawned,  stretched  him- 
self, and  then,  to  the  vast  admiration  of  the 
small  people,  skipped  three  times  back  and 
forth  over  the  top  of  a  chair,  in  order,  as  he 
explained  to  them,  to  set  his  wits  in  motion. 

"Well,  well,  children,"  said  he,  after  these 
preliminaries,  "since  you  insist,  and  Primrose 
has  set  her  heart  upon  it,  I  will  see  what  can  be 
done  for  you.  And,  that  you  may  know  what 
happy  days  there  were  before  snow-storms 
came  into  fashion,  I  will  tell  you  a  story  of  the 
oldest  of  all  old  times,  when  the  world  was  as 
new  as  Sweet  Fern's  bran  new  humming-top. 
There  was  then  but  one  season  in  the  year,  and 
that  was  the  delightful  summer;  and  but  one 
age  for  mortals,  and  that  was  childhood." 

"  I  never  heard  of  that  before,"  said  Primrose. 

"Of  course,  you  never  did,"  answered  Eus- 
tace. "  It  shall  be  a  story  of  what  nobody  but 
myself  ever  dreamed  of, — a  Paradise  of  children, 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.      99 

— and  how,  by  the  naughtiness  of  just  such  a 
little  imp  as  Primrose  here,  it  all  came  to 
nothing." 

So  Eustace  Bright  sat  down  in  the  chair  which 
he  had  just  been  skipping  over,  took  Cowslip 
upon  his  knee,  ordered  silence  throughout  the 
auditory,  and  began  a  story  about  a  sad  naughty 
child,  whose  name  was  Pandora,  and  about  her 
playfellow,  Epimetheus.  You  may  read  it, 
word  for  word,  in  the  pages  that  come  next. 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN. 

Long,  long  ago,  when  this  old  world  was  in  its 
tender  infancy,  there  was  a  child,  named  Epime- 
theus,  who  never  had  either  father  or  mother; 
and,  that  he  might  not  be  lonely,  another  child, 
fatherless  and  motherless  like  himself,  was  sent 
from  a  far  country,  to  live  with  him,  and  be 
his  playfellow  and  helpmate.  Her  name  was 
Pandora. 

The  first  thing  that  Pandora  saw,  when  she 
entered  the  cottage  where  Epimetheus  dwelt, 
was  a  great  box.  And  almost  the  first  ques- 
tion which  she  put  to  him,  after  crossing  the 
threshold,    was    this, — 

"Epimetheus,  what  have  you  in  that  box?" 

"My  dear  little  Pandora,"  answered  Epime- 
theus, "  that  is  a  secret,  and  you  must  be  kind 
enough  not  to  ask  any  questions  about  it.  The 
box  was  left  here  to  be  kept  safely,  and  I  do 
not  myself  know  what  it  contains." 

"But  who  gave  it  to  you?"  asked  Pandora, 
"And  where  did  it  come  from?" 

"That  is  a  secret,  too,"  replied  Epimetheus. 

"How     provoking!"      exclaimed      Pandora, 

ioo 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    101 

pouting  her  lip.  "I  wish  the  great  ugly  box 
were  out  of  the  way ! ' ' 

"Oh,  come,  don't  let  us  think  of  it  any 
more,"  cried  Epimetheus.  "Let  us  run  out  of 
doors,  and  have  some  nice  play  with  the  other 
children." 

It  is  thousands  of  years  since  Epimetheus 
and  Pandora  were  alive;  and  the  world,  nowa- 
days, is  a  very  different  sort  of  thing  from  what 
it  was  in  their  time.  Then  everybody  was  a 
child.  They  needed  no  fathers  and  mothers 
to  take  care  of  the  children;  because  there  was 
no  danger,  nor  trouble  of  any  kind,  and  no 
clothes  to  be  mended,  and  there  was  always 
plenty  to  eat  and  drink.  Whenever  a  child 
wanted  his  dinner,  he  found  it  growing  on  a 
tree ;  and,  if  he  looked  at  the  tree  in  the  morning, 
he  could  see  the  expanding  blossom  of  that 
night's  supper;  or,  at  eventide,  he  saw  the 
tender  bud  of  to-morrow's  breakfast.  It  was 
a  very  pleasant  life  indeed.  No  labor  to  be  done, 
no  tasks  to  be  studied;  nothing  but  sports 
and  dances,  and  sweet  voices  of  children  talking, 
or  carolling  like  birds,  or  gushing  out  in  merry 
laughter,  throughout  the  livelong  day. 

What  was  most  wonderful  of  all,  the  children 
never  quarrelled  among  themselves;  neither 
had  they  any  crying  fits;  nor,  since  time  first 
began,  had  a  single  one  of  these  little  mortals 
ever  gone  apart  into  a  corner,  and  sulked.     Oh, 


102  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

what  a  good  time  was  that  to  be  alive  in  ?  The 
truth  is,  those  ugly  little  winged  monsters, 
called  Troubles,  which  are  now  almost  as  numer- 
ous as  mosquitoes,  had  never  yet  been  seen 
on  the  earth.  It  is  probable  that  the  very 
greatest  disquietude  which  a  child  had  ever 
experienced  was  Pandora's  vexation  at  not 
being  able  to  discover  the  secret  of  the  myste- 
rious box. 

This  was  at  first  only  the  faint  shadow  of  a 
Trouble ;  but,  every  day,  it  grew  more  and  more 
substantial,  until,  before  a  great  while,  the 
cottage  of  Epimetheus  and  Pandora  was  less 
sunshiny  than  those  of  the  other  children. 

"Whence  can  the  box  have  come?"  Pandora 
continually  kept  saying  to  herself  and  to  Epime- 
theus, "And  what  in  the  world  can  be  inside  of 
it?" 

"  Always  talking  about  this  box! "  said  Epime- 
theus, at  last;  for  he  had  grown  extremely 
tired  of  the  subject.  "  I  wish,  dear  Pandora, 
you  would  try  to  talk  of  something  else.  Come, 
let  us  go  and  gather  some  ripe  figs,  and  eat 
them  under  the  trees,  for  our  supper.  And  I 
know  a  vine  that  has  the  sweetest  and  juiciest 
grapes  you  ever  tasted." 

"Always  talking  about  grapes  and  figs!" 
cried  Pandora,  pettishly. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Epimetheus,  who  was  a 
very  good-tempered  child,  like  a  multitude  of 


//  was  a  very  pleasant  life  indeed 


Page  101 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    103 

children  in  those  days,  "  let  us  run  out  and  have 
a  merry  time  with  our  playmates." 

"  I  am  tired  of  merry  times,  and  don't  care  if 
I  never  have  any  more!"  answered  our  pettish 
little  Pandora.  "  And,  besides,  I  never  do  have 
any.  This  ugly  box!  I  am  so  taken  up  with 
thinking  about  it  all  the  time.  I  insist  upon 
your  telling  me  what  is  inside  of  it." 

"As  I  have  already  said,  fifty  times  over,  I 
do  not  know!"  replied  Epimetheus,  getting  a 
little  vexed.  "  How,  then,  can  I  tell  you  what 
is  inside?" 

"You  might  open  it,"  said  Pandora,  looking 
sideways  at  Epimetheus,  "  and  then  we  could 
see  for  ourselves." 

"Pandora,  what  are  you  thinking  of?" 
exclaimed  Epimetheus. 

And  his  face  expressed  so  much  horror  at  the 
idea  of  looking  into  a  box,  which  had  been 
confided  to  him  on  the  condition  of  his  never 
opening  it,  that  Pandora  thought  it  best  not  to 
suggest  it  any  more.  Still,  however,  she  could 
not  help  thinking  and  talking  about  the  box. 

"  At  least,"  said  she,  "you  can  tell  me  how  it 
came  here." 

"It  was  left  at  the  door,"  replied  Epimetheus, 
"  just  before  you  came,  by  a  person  who  looked 
very  smiling  and  intelligent,  and  who  could 
hardly  forbear  laughing  as  he  put  it  down.  He 
was  dressed  in  an  odd  kind  of  a  cloak,  and  had 


io4  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

on  a  cap  that  seemed  to  be  made  partly  of 
feathers,  so  that  it  looked  almost  as  if  it  had 
wings." 

"What  sort  of  a  staff  had  he?"  asked  Pan- 
dora. 

"Oh,  the  most  curious  staff  you  ever  saw!" 
cried  Epimetheus.  "  It  was  like  two  serpents 
twisting  around  a  stick,  and  was  carved  so 
naturally,  that  I,  at  first,  thought  the  serpents 
were  alive." 

"I  know  him,"  said  Pandora,  thoughtfully. 
"  Nobody  else  has  such  a  staff.  It  was  Quick- 
silver; and  he  brought  me  hither,  as  well  as  the 
box.  No  doubt  he  intended  it  for  me;  and, 
most  probably,  it  contains  pretty  dresses  for 
me  to  wear,  or  toys  for  you  and  me  to  play  with, 
or  something  very  nice  for  us  both  to  eat ! ' ' 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  Epimetheus,  turning 
away.  "  But  until  Quicksilver  comes  back  and 
tells  us  so,  we  have  neither  of  us  any  right  to  lift 
the  lid  of  the  box." 

"What  a  dull  boy  he  is!"  muttered  Pandora, 
as  Epimetheus  left  the  cottage.  "  I  do  wish  he 
had  a  little  more  enterprise!" 

For  the  first  time  since  her  arrival,  Epime- 
theus had  gone  out  without  asking  Pandora  to 
accompany  him.  He  went  to  gather  figs  and 
grapes  by  himself,  or  to  seek  whatever  amuse- 
ment he  could  find,  in  other  society  than  his 
little  playfellow's.     He  was  tired  to  death  of 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    105 

hearing  about  the  box,  and  heartily  wished  that 
Quicksilver,  or  whatever  was  the  messenger's 
name,  had  left  it  at  some  other  child's  door, 
where  Pandora  would  never  have  set  eyes  on 
it.  So  perse veringly  as  she  did  babble  about 
this  one  thing!  The  box,  the  box,  and  nothing 
but  the  box!  It  seemed  as  if  the  box  were 
bewitched,  and  as  if  the  cottage  were  not  big 
enough  to  hold  it,  without  Pandora's  continu- 
ally stumbling  over  it,  and  making  Epimetheus 
stumble  over  it  likewise,  and  bruising  all  four  of 
their  shins. 

Well,  it  was  really  hard  that  poor  Epimetheus 
should  have  a  box  in  his  ears  from  morning  till 
night ;  especially  as  the  little  people  of  the  earth 
were  so  unaccustomed  to  vexations,  in  those 
happy  days,  that  they  knew  not  how  to  deal  with 
them.  Thus,  a  small  vexation  made  as  much 
disturbance  then,  as  a  far  bigger  one  would  in 
our   own   times. 

After  Epimetheus  was  gone,  Pandora  stood 
gazing  at  the  box.  She  had  called  it  ugly,  above 
a  hundred  times;  but,  in  spite  of  all  that  she 
had  said  against  it,  it  was  positively  a  very 
handsome  article  of  furniture,  and  would  have 
been  quite  an  ornament  to  any  room  in  which 
it  should  be  placed.  It  was  made  of  a  beautiful 
kind  of  wood,  with  dark  and  rich  veins  spread- 
ing over  its  surface,  which  was  so  highly  polished 
that  little  Pandora  could  see  her  face  in  it.     As 


106  A  WONDER-BOOK 

the  child  had  no  other  looking-glass,  it  is  odd 
that  she  did  not  value  the  box,  merely  on  this 
account. 

The  edges  and  corners  of  the  box  were  carved 
with  most  wonderful  skill.  Around  the  margin 
there  were  figures  of  graceful  men  and  women, 
and  the  prettiest  children  ever  seen,  reclining 
or  sporting  amid  a  profusion  of  flowers  and 
foliage;  and  these  various  objects  were  so 
exquisitely  represented,  and  were  wrought 
together  in  such  harmony,  that  flowers,  foliage, 
and  human  beings  seemed  to  combine  into  a 
wreath  of  mingled  beauty.  But  here  and  there, 
peeping  forth  from  behind  the  carved  foliage, 
Pandora  once  or  twice  fancied  that  she  saw  a 
face  not  so  lovely,  or  something  or  other  that 
was  disagreeable,  and  which  stole  the  beauty 
out  of  all  the  rest.  Nevertheless,  on  looking 
more  closely,  and  touching  the  spot  with  her 
finger,  she  could  discover  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Some  face,  that  was  really  beautiful,  had  been 
made  to  look  ugly  by  her  catching  a  sideway 
glimpse  at  it. 

The  most  beautiful  face  of  all  was  done  in 
what  is  called  high  relief,  in  the  centre  of  the 
lid.  There  was  nothing  else,  save  the  dark, 
smooth  richness  of  the  polished  wood,  and  this 
one  face  in  the  centre,  with  a  garland  of  flowers 
about  its  brow.  Pandora  had  looked  at  this 
face  a  great  many  times,  and  imagined  that  the 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    107 

mouth  could  smile  if  it  liked,  or  be  grave  when 
it  chose,  the  same  as  any  living  mouth.  The 
features,  indeed,  all  wore  a  very  lively  and  rather 
mischievous  expression,  which  looked  almost  as 
if  it  needs  must  burst  out  of  the  carved  lips,  and 
utter  itself  in  words. 

Had  the  mouth  spoken,  it  would  probably 
have  been  something  like  this: 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  Pandora!  What  harm 
can  there  be  in  opening  the  box?  Never  mind 
that  poor,  simple  Epimetheus!  You  are  wiser 
than  he,  and  have  ten  times  as  much  spirit. 
Open  the  box,  and  see  if  you  do  not  find  some- 
thing very  pretty!" 

The  box,  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  say,  was 
fastened;  not  by  a  lock,  nor  by  any  other  such 
contrivance,  but  by  a  very  intricate  knot  of  gold 
ccrd.  There  appeared  to  be  no  end  to  this  knot, 
and  no  beginning.  Never  was  a  knot  so  cun- 
ningly twisted,  nor  with  so  many  ins  and  outs, 
which  roguishly  defied  the  skilfullest  fingers  to 
disentangle  them.  And  yet,  by  the  very  diffi- 
culty that  there  was  in  it,  Pandora  was  the  more 
tempted  to  examine  the  knot,  and  just  see  how 
it  was  made.  Two  or  three  times,  already,  she 
had  stooped  over  the  box,  and  taken  the  knot 
between  her  thumb  and  forefinger,  but  without 
positively  trying  to  undo  it. 

"I  really  believe,"  said  she  to  herself,  "that 
I  begin  to  see  how  it  was  done.     Nay,  perhaps 


108  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

I  could  tie  it  up  again,  after  undoing  it.  There 
would  be  no  harm  in  that,  surely.  Even  Epime- 
theus  would  not  blame  me  for  that.  I  need 
not  open  the  box,  and  should  not,  of  course, 
without  the  foolish  boy's  consent,  even  if  the 
knot  were  untied." 

It  might  have  been  better  for  Pandora  if  she 
had  had  a  little  work  to  do,  or  anything  to 
employ  her  mind  upon,  so  as  not  to  be  so  con- 
stantly thinking  of  this  one  object.  But  chil- 
dren led  so  easy  a  life,  before  any  Troubles  came 
into  the  world,  that  they  had  really  a  great  deal 
too  much  leisure.  They  could  not  be  forever 
playing  at  hide-and-seek  among  the  flower- 
shrubs,  or  at  blind-man's-buff  with  garlands 
over  their  eyes,  or  at  whatever  other  games 
had  been  found  out,  while  Mother  Earth  was 
in  her  babyhood.  When  life  is  all  short,  toil 
is  the  real  play.  There  was  absolutely  nothing 
to  do.  A  little  sweeping  and  dusting  about  the 
cottage,  I  suppose,  and  the  gathering  of  fresh 
flowers  (which  were  only  too  abundant  every- 
where), and  arranging  them  in  vases, — and 
poor  little  Pandora's  day's  work  was  over.  And 
then,  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  there  was  the  box! 

After  all,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  the  box  was 
not  a  blessing  to  her  in  its  way.  It  supplied 
her  with  such  a  variety  of  ideas  to  think  of,  and 
to  talk  about,  whenever  she  had  anybody  to 
listen!    When  she  was  in  good  humour,   she 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    109 

could  admire  the  bright  polish  of  its  sides,  and 
the  rich  border  of  beautiful  faces  and  foliage 
that  ran  all  around  it.  Or,  if  she  chanced  to  be 
ill-tempered,  she  could  give  it  a  push,  or  kick  it 
with  her  naughty  little  foot.  And  many  a  kick 
did  the  box — (but  it  was  a  mischievous  box,  as 
we  shall  see,  and  deserved  all  it  got) — many  a 
kick  did  it  receive.  But  certain  it  is,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  box,  our  active-minded  little 
Pandora  would  not  have  known  half  so  well 
how  to  spend  her  time  as  she  now  did. 

For  it  was  really  an  endless  employment  to 
guess  what  was  inside.  What  could  it  be, 
indeed?  Just  imagine,  my  little  hearers,  how 
busy  your  wits  would  be,  if  there  were  a  great 
box  in  the  house,  which,  as  you  might  have 
reason  to  suppose,  contained  something  new 
and  pretty  for  your  Christmas  or  New  Year's 
gifts.  Do  you  think  that  you  should  be  less 
curious  than  Pandora?  If  you  were  left  alone 
with  the  box,  might  you  not  feel  a  little  tempted 
to  lift  the  lid?  But  you  would  not  do  it.  Oh, 
fie!  No,  no!  Only,  if  you  thought  there  were 
toys  in  it,  it  would  be  so  very  hard  to  let  slip 
an  opportunity  of  taking  just  one  peep!  I 
know  not  whether  Pandora  expected  any  toys; 
for  none  had  yet  begun  to  be  made,  probably, 
in  those  days,  when  the  world  itself  was  one 
great  plaything  for  the  children  that  dwelt  upon 
it.     But    Pandora    was    convinced    that    there 


no  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

was  something  very  beautiful  and  valuable  in 
the  box;  and  therefore  she  felt  just  as  anxious 
to  take  a  peep  as  any  of  these  little  girls,  here 
around  me,  would  have  felt.  And,  possibly,  a 
little  more  so;  but  of  that  I  am  not  quite  so 
certain. 

On  this  particular  day,  however,  which  we 
have  so  long  been  talking  about,  her  curiosity 
grew  so  much  greater  than  it  usually  was,  that, 
at  last,  she  approached  the  box.  She  was  more 
than  half  determined  to  open  it,  if  she  could. 
Ah,   naughty  Pandora! 

First,  however,  she  tried  to  lift  it.  It  was 
heavy;  quite  too  heavy  for  the  slender  strength 
of  a  child,  like  Pandora.  She  raised  one  end 
of  the  box  a  few  inches  from  the  floor,  and  let 
it  fall  again,  with  a  pretty  loud  thump.  A 
moment  afterwards,  she  almost  fancied  that 
she  heard  something  stir  inside  of  the  box.  She 
applied  her  ear  as  closely  as  possible,  and  lis- 
tened. Positively,  there  did  seem  to  be  a  kind 
of  stifled  murmur,  within!  Or  was  it  merely 
the  singing  in  Pandora's  ears?  Or  could  it  be 
the  beating  of  her  heart?  The  child  could  not 
quite  satisfy  herself  whether  she  had  heard 
anything  on  no.  But,  at  all  events,  her  curiosity 
was  stronger  than  ever. 

As  she  drew  back  her  head,  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  knot  of  gold  cord. 

"It  must  have  been  a  very  ingenious  person 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN,    in 

who  tied  this  knot,"  said  Pandora  to  herself. 
"  But  I  think  I  could  untie  it  nevertheless.  I 
am  resolved,  at  least,  to  find  the  two  ends  of  the 
cord." 

So  she  took  the  golden  knot  in  her  fingers,  and 
pried  into  its  intricacies  as  sharply  as  she  could. 
Almost  without  intending  it,  or  quite  knowing 
what  she  was  about,  she  was  soon  busily  engaged 
in  attempting  to  undo  it.  Meanwhile,  the 
bright  sunshine  came  through  the  open  window ; 
as  did  likewise  the  merry  voices  of  the  children, 
playing  at  a  distance,  and  perhaps  the  voice  of 
Epimetheus  among  them.  Pandora  stopped 
to  listen.  What  a  beautiful  day  it  was !  Would 
it  not  be  wiser,  if  she  were  to  let  the  troublesome 
knot  alone,  and  think  no  more  about  the  box, 
but  run  and  join  her  little  play-fellows,  and  be 
happy  ? 

All  this  time,  however,  her  fingers  were  half 
unconsciously  busy  with  the  knot;  and  happen- 
ing to  glance  at  the  flower-wreathed  face  on 
the  lid  of  the  enchanted  box,  she  seemed  to 
perceive  it  slyly  grinning  at  her. 

"That  face  looks  very  mischievous,"  thought 
Pandora.  "  I  wonder  whether  it  smiles  because 
I  am  doing  wrong!  I  have  the  greatest  mind 
in  the  world  to  run  away!" 

But  just  then,  by  the  merest  accident,  she 
gave  the  knot  a  kind  of  twist,  which  produced 
a  wonderful  result.     The  gold  cord  untwined 


ii2  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

itself,  as  if  by  magic,  and  left  the  box  without  a 
fastening. 

"This  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  knew!" 
said  Pandora.  "What  will  Epimetheus  say? 
And  how  can  I  possibly  tie  it  up  again  ? ' ' 

She  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  restore  the 
knot,  but  soon  found  it  quite  beyond  her  skill. 
It  had  disentangled  itself  so  suddenly  that  she 
could  not  in  the  least  remember  how  the  strings 
had  been  doubled  into  one  another;  and  when 
she  tried  to  recollect  the  shape  and  appearance 
of  the  knot,  it  seemed  to  have  gone  entirely  out 
of  her  mind.  Nothing  was  to  be  done,  therefore, 
but  to  let  the  box  remain  as  it  was  until  Epime- 
theus should  come  in. 

"But,"  said  Pandora,  "when  he  finds  the 
knot  untied,  he  will  know  that  I  have  done  it. 
How  shall  I  make  him  believe  that  I  have  not 
looked   into    the    box?" 

And  then  the  thought  came  into  her  naughty 
little  heart,  that,  since  she  would  be  suspected 
of  having  looked  into  the  box,  she  might  just 
as  well  do  so  at  once.  Oh,  very  naughty  and 
very  foolish  Pandora!  You  should  have 
thought  only  of  doing  what  was  right,  and  of 
leaving  undone  what  was  wrong,  and  not  of 
what  your  playfellow  Epimetheus  would  have 
said  or  believed.  And  so  perhaps  she  might, 
if  the  enchanted  face  on  the  lid  of  the  box  had 
not  looked  so  bewitchingly  persuasive  at  her, 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    113 

and  if  she  had  not  seemed  to  hear,  more  dis- 
tinctly than  before,  the  murmur  of  small 
voices  within.  She  could  not  tell  whether  it 
was  fancy  or  no;  but  there  was  quite  a  little 
tumult  of  whispers  in  her  ear — or  else  it  was 
her  curiosity  that  whispered, — 

"Let  us  out,  dear  Pandora, — pray  let  us  out! 
We  will  be  such  nice  pretty  playfellows  for  you! 
Only  let  us  out!" 

"What  can  it  be?"  thought  Pandora.  "Is 
there  something  alive  in  the  box?  Well! — 
yes! — I  am  resolved  to  take  just  one  peep! 
Only  one  peep;  and  then  the  lid  shall  be  shut 
down  as  safely  as  ever!  There  cannot  possibly 
be  any  harm  in  just  one  little  peep!" 

But  it  is  now  time  for  us  to  see  what  Epime- 
theus  was  doing. 

This  was  the  first  time,  since  his  little  play- 
mate had  come  to  dwell  with  him,  that  he  had 
attempted  to  enjoy  any  pleasure  in  which  she 
did  not  partake.  But  nothing  went  right;  nor 
was  he  nearly  so  happy  as  on  other  days.  He 
could  not  find  a  sweet  grape  or  a  ripe  fig  (if 
Epimetheus  had  a  fault,  it  was  a  little  too  much 
fondness  for  figs) ;  or,  if  ripe  at  all,  they  were 
over-ripe,  and  so  sweet  as  to  be  cloying.  There 
was  no  mirth  in  his  heart,  such  as  usually  made 
his  voice  gush  out,  of  its  own  accord,  and  swell 
the  merriment  of  his  companions.  In  short,  he 
grew  so  uneasy  and  discontented,  that  the  other 


ii4  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

children  could  not  imagine  what  was  the  matter 
with  Epimetheus.  Neither  did  he  himself  know 
what  ailed  him,  any  better  than  they  did.  For 
you  must  recollect  that,  at  the  time  we  are 
speaking  of,  it  was  everybody's  nature  and 
constant  habit  to  be  happy.  The  world  had 
not  yet  learned  to  be  otherwise.  Not  a  single 
soul  or  body,  since  these  children  were  first  sent 
to  enjoy  themselves  on  the  beautiful  earth,  had 
ever  been  sick  or  out  of  sorts. 

At  length,  discovering  that,  somehow  or  other, 
he  had  put  a  stop  to  all  the  play,  Epimetheus 
judged  it  best  to  go  back  to  Pandora,  who  was 
in  a  humor  better  suited  to  his  own.  But,  with 
a  hope  of  giving  her  pleasure,  he  gathered  some 
flowers,  and  made  them  into  a  wreath,  which 
he  meant  to  put  upon  her  head.  The  flowers 
were  very  lovely, — roses,  and  lilies,  and  orange- 
blossoms,  and  a  great  many  more,  which  left  a 
trail  of  fragrance  behind,  as  Epimetheus  carried 
them  along;  and  the  wreath  was  put  together 
with  as  much  skill  as  could  reasonably  be 
expected  of  a  boy.  The  fingers  of  little  girls,  it 
has  always  appeared  to  me,  are  the  fittest  to 
twine  flower- wreaths ;  but  boys  could  do  it,  in 
those  days,  rather  better  than  they  can  now. 

And  here  I  must  mention  that  a  great  black 
cloud  had  been  gathering  in  the  sky,  for  some 
time  past,  although  it  had  not  yet  overspread 
the  sun.     But,  just  as  Epimetheus  reached  the 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    115 

cottage  door,  this  cloud  began  to  intercept  the 
sunshine,  and  thus  to  make  a  sudden  and  sad 
obscurity. 

He  entered  softly;  for  he  meant,  if  possible, 
to  steal  behind  Pandora,  and  fling  the  wreath 
of  flowers  over  her  head,  before  she  should  be 
aware  of  his  approach.  But,  as  it  happened 
there  was  no  need  of  his  treading  so  very  lightly. 
He  might  have  trod  as  heavily  as  he  pleased, 
— as  heavily  as  a  grown  man, — as  heavily, 
I  was  going  to  say,  as  an  elephant, — without 
much  probability  of  Pandora's  hearing  his 
footsteps.  She  was  too  intent  upon  her  pur- 
pose. At  the  moment  of  his  entering  the 
cottage,  the  naughty  child  had  put  her  hand 
to  the  lid,  and  was  on  the  point  of  opening  the 
mysterious  box.  Epimetheus  beheld  her.  If 
he  had  cried  out,  Pandora  would  probably  have 
withdrawn  her  hand,  and  the  fatal  mystery 
of  the  box  might  never  have  been  known. 

But  Epimetheus  himself,  although  he  said 
very  little  about  it,  had  his  own  share  of  curi- 
osity to  know  what  was  inside.  Perceiving 
that  Pandora  was  resolved  to  find  out  the  secret, 
he  determined  that  his  playfellow  should  not 
be  the  only  wise  person  in  the  cottage.  And 
if  there  were  anything  pretty  or  valuable  in  the 
box,  he  meant  to  take  half  of  it  to  himself. 
Thus,  after  all  his  sage  speeches  to  Pandora 
about    restraining    her    curiosity,    Epimetheus 


n6  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

turned  out  to  be  quite  as  foolish,  and  nearly 
as  much  in  fault,  as  she.  So  whenever  we 
blame  Pandora  for  what  happened,  we  must 
not  forget  to  shake  our  heads  at  Epimetheus 
likewise. 

As  Pandora  raised  the  lid,  the  cottage  grew 
very  dark  and  dismal;  for  the  black  cloud  had 
now  swept  quite  over  the  sun,  and  seemed  to 
have  buried  it  alive.  There  had,  for  a  little 
while  past,  been  a  low  growling  and  muttering, 
which  all  at  once  broke  into  a  heavy  peal  of 
thunder.  But  Pandora,  heeding  nothing  of  all 
this,  lifted  the  lid  nearly  upright,  and  looked 
inside.  It  seemed  as  if  a  sudden  swarm  of 
winged  creatures  brushed  past  her,  taking  flight 
out  of  the  box,  while,  at  the  same  instant,  she 
heard  the  voice  of  Epimetheus,  with  a  lament- 
able tone,  as  if  he  were  in  pain. 

"Oh,  I  am  stung!"  cried  he.  "I  am  stung! 
Naughty  Pandora!  why  have  you  opened  this 
wicked  box  ? ' ' 

Pandora  let  fall  the  lid,  and,  starting  up, 
looked  about  her  to  see  what  had  befallen 
Epimetheus.  The  thunder-cloud  had  so  dark- 
ened the  room  that  she  could  not  very  clearly 
discern  what  was  in  it.  But  she  heard  a  dis- 
agreeable buzzing,  as  if  a  great  many  huge  flies, 
or  gigantic  mosquitoes,  or  those  insects  which 
we  call  dor-bugs,  and  pinching- dogs,  were 
darting  about.     And,   as  her  eyes  grew  more 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    117 

accustomed  to  the  imperfect  light,  she  saw  a 
crowd  of  ugly  little  shapes,  with  bats'  wings, 
looking  abominably  spiteful,  and  armed  with 
terribly  long  stings  in  their  tails.  It  was  one  of 
these  that  had  stung  Epimetheus.  Nor  was  it 
a  great  while  before  Pandora  herself  began  to 
scream,  in  no  less  pain  and  affright  than  her 
playfellow,  and  making  a  vast  deal  more  hubbub 
about  it.  An  odious  little  monster  had  settled 
on  her  forehead,  and  would  have  stung  her 
I  know  not  how  deeply,  if  Epimetheus  had  not 
run  and  brushed  it  away. 

Now,  if  you  wish  to  know  what  these  ugly 
things  might  be,  which  had  made  their  escape 
out  of  the  box,  I  must  tell  you  that  they  were 
the  whole  family  of  earthly  Troubles.  There 
were  evil  Passions;  there  were  a  great  many 
species  of  Cares ;  there  were  more  than  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Sorrows;  there  were  Diseases 
in  a  vast  number  of  miserable  and  painful 
shapes;  there  were  more  kinds  of  Naughtiness 
than  it  would  be  of  any  use  to  talk  about.  In 
short,  everything  that  has  since  afflicted  the 
souls  and  bodies  of  mankind  had  been  shut  up 
in  the  mysterious  box,  and  given  to  Epimetheus 
and  Pandora  to  be  kept  safely,  in  order  that 
the  happy  children  of  the  world  might  never 
be  molested  by  them.  Had  they  been  faithful 
to  their  trust,  all  would  have  gone  well.  No 
grown  person  would  ever  have  been  sad,  nor 


n8  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

any  child  have  had  cause  to  shed  a  single  tear 
from  that  hour  until  this  moment. 

But — and  you  may  see  by  this  how  a  wrong 
act  of  any  one  mortal  is  a  calamity  to  the  whole 
world — by  Pandora's  lifting  the  lid  of  that 
miserable  box,  and  by  the  fault  of  Epimetheus 
too,  in  not  preventing  her,  these  Troubles  have 
obtained  a  foothold  among  us,  and  do  not  seem 
very  likely  to  be  driven  away  in  a  hurry.  For 
it  was  impossible,  as  you  will  easily  guess,  that 
the  two  children  should  keep  the  ugly  swarm  in 
their  own  little  cottage.  On  the  contrary,  the 
first  thing  that  they  did  was  to  fling  open  the 
doors  and  windows,  in  hopes  of  getting  rid  of 
them;  and,  sure  enough,  away  flew  the  winged 
Troubles  all  abroad,  and  so  pestered  and  tor- 
mented the  small  people,  everywhere  about,  that 
none  of  them  so  much  as  smiled  for  many  days 
afterwards.  And,  what  was  very  singular,  all  the 
flowers  and  dewy  blossoms  on  earth,  not  one  of 
which  had  hitherto  faded,  now  began  to  droop 
and  shed  their  leaves,  after  a  day  or  two.  The 
children,  moreover,  who  before  seemed  immortal 
in  their  childhood,  now  grew  older,  day  by  day, 
and  came  soon  to  be  youths  and  maidens,  and 
men  and  women  by  and  by,  and  aged  people, 
before  they  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 

Meanwhile,  the  naughty  Pandora,  and  hardly 
less  naughty  Epimetheus,  remained  in  their 
cottage.     Both  of  them  had  been  grievously 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    119 

stung,  and  were  in  a  good  deal  of  pain,  which 
seemed  the  more  intolerable  to  them,  because 
it  was  the  very  first  pain  that  had  ever  been 
felt  since  the  world  began.  Of  course,  they 
were  entirely  unaccustomed  to  it,  and  could 
have  no  idea  what  it  meant.  Besides  all  this, 
they  were  in  exceedingly  bad  humor,  both 
with  themselves  and  with  one  another.  In 
order  to  indulge  it  to  the  utmost,  Epimetheus 
sat  down  sullenly  in  a  corner  with  his  back 
towards  Pandora;  while  Pandora  flung  herself 
upon  the  floor  and  rested  her  head  on  the  fatal 
and  abominable  box.  She  was  crying  bitterly, 
and  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  gentle  little  tap  on  the 
inside  of  the  lid. 

"What  can  that  be?"  cried  Pandora,  lifting 
her  head. 

But  either  Epimetheus  had  not  heard  the  tap, 
or  was  too  much  out  of  humor  to  notice  it.  At 
any  rate,  he  made  no  answer. 

"You  are  very  unkind,"  said  Pandora,  sob- 
bing anew,  "not  to  speak  to  me!" 

Again  the  tap!  It  sounded  like  the  tiny 
knuckles  of  a  fairy's  hand,  knocking  lightly  and 
playfully  on  the  inside  of  the  box. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Pandora,  with  a  little 
of  her  former  curiosity.  "Who  are  you,  inside 
of  this  naughty  box?" 

A  sweet  little  voice  spoke  from  within, — 


i2o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Only  lift  the  lid,  and  you  shall  see." 

"No,  no,"  answered  Pandora,  again  begin- 
ning to  sob,  "  I  have  had  enough  of  lifting  the 
lid!  You  are  inside  of  the  box,  naughty  crea- 
ture, and  there  you  shall  stay!  There  are 
plenty  of  your  ugly  brothers  and  sisters  already 
flying  about  the  world.  You  need  never  think 
that  I  shall  be  so  foolish  as  to  let  you  out! " 

She  looked  towards  Epimetheus,  as  she 
spoke,  perhaps  expecting  that  he  would  com- 
mend her  for  her  wisdom.  But  the  sullen  boy 
only  muttered  that  she  was  wise  a  little  too  late. 

"Ah,"  said  the  sweet  little  voice  again,  "you 
had  much  better  let  me  out.  I  am  not  like 
those  naughty  creatures  that  have  stings  in 
their  tails.  They  are  no  brothers  and  sisters 
of  mine,  as  you  would  see  at  once,  if  you  were 
only  to  get  a  glimpse  of  me.  Come,  come,  my 
pretty  Pandora!  I  am  sure  you  will  let  me 
out!" 

And,  indeed,  there  was  a  kind  of  cheerful 
witchery  in  the  tone,  that  made  it  almost  impos- 
sible to  refuse  anything  which  this  little  voice 
asked.  Pandora's  heart  had  insensibly  grown 
lighter,  at  every  word  that  came  from  within 
the  box.  Epimetheus,  too,  though  still  in  the 
corner,  had  turned  half  round,  and  seemed  to 
be  in  rather  better  spirits  than  before. 

"  My  dear  Epimetheus,"  cried  Pandora,  "have 
you  heard  this  little  voice?" 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    121 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  have,"  answered  he,  but  in 
no  very  good-humor  as  yet.     "  And  what  of  it  ? " 

"  Shall  I  lift  the  lid  again?"  asked  Pandora. 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  Epimetheus. 
"You  have  done  so  much  mischief  already, 
that  perhaps  you  may  as  well  do  a  little  more. 
One  other  Trouble,  in  such  a  swarm  as  you  have 
set  adrift  about  the  world,  can  make  no  very 
great  difference." 

"You  might  speak  a  little  more  kindly!" 
murmured  Pandora,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"Ah,  naughty  boy!"  cried  the  little  voice 
within  the  box,  in  an  arch  and  laughing  tone. 
"  He  knows  he  is  longing  to  see  me.  Come, 
my  dear  Pandora,  lift  up  the  lid.  I  am  in  a 
great  hurry  to  comfort  you.  Only  let  me  have 
some  fresh  air,  and  you  shall  soon  see  that 
matters  are  not  quite  so  dismal  as  you  think 
them!" 

"Epimetheus,"  exclaimed  Pandora,  "come 
what  may,  I  am  resolved  to  open  the  box!" 

"And,  as  the  lid  seems  very  heavy,"  cried 
Epimetheus,  running  across  the  room,  "  I  will 
help  you!" 

So,  with  one  consent,  the  two  children  again 
lifted  the  lid.  Out  flew  a  sunny  and  smiling 
little  personage,  and  hovered  about  the  room, 
throwing  a  light  wherever  she  went.  Have 
you  never  made  the  sunshine  dance  into  dark 
corners,  by  reflecting  it  from  a  bit  of  looking- 


122  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

glass?  Well,  so  looked  the  winged  cheerfulness 
of  this  fairy-like  stranger,  amid  the  gloom  of 
the  cottage.  She  flew  to  Epimetheus,  and  laid 
the  least  touch  of  her  finger  on  the  inflamed  spot 
where  the  Trouble  had  stung  him,  and  imme- 
diately the  anguish  of  it  was  gone.  Then  she 
kissed  Pandora  on  the  forehead,  and  her  hurt 
was  cured  likewise. 

After  performing  these  good  offices,  the  bright 
stranger  fluttered  sportively  over  the  children's 
heads,  and  looked  so  sweetly  at  them,  that  they 
both  began  to  think  it  not  so  very  much  amiss 
to  have  opened  the  box,  since,  otherwise,  their 
cheery  guest  must  have  been  kept  a  prisoner 
among  those  naughty  imps  with  stings  in  their 
tails. 

"Pray,  who  are  you,  beautiful  creature?" 
inquired  Pandora. 

"I  am  to  be  called  Hope!"  answered  the 
sunshiny  figure.  "And  because  I  am  such  a 
cheery  little  body,  I  was  packed  into  the  box, 
to  make  amends  to  the  human  race  for  that 
swarm  of  ugly  Troubles  which  was  destined  to 
be  let  loose  among  them.  Never  fear!  we  shall 
do  pretty  well  in  spite  of  them  all." 

"Your  wings  are  colored  like  the  rainbow!" 
exclaimed    Pandora.     "How   very   beautiful!" 

"Yes,  they  are  like  the  rainbow,"  said  Hope, 
"because,  glad  as  my  nature  is,  I  am  partly 
made  of  tears  as  well  as  smiles." 


THE  PARADISE  OF  CHILDREN.    123 

"And  will  you  stay  with  us,"  asked  Epime- 
theus,  "forever  and  ever?" 

"As  long  as  you  need  me,"  said  Hope,  with 
her  pleasant  smile, — "  and  that  will  be  as  long 
as  you  live  in  the  world, — I  promise  never  to 
desert  you.  There  may  come  times  and  sea- 
sons, now  and  then,  when  you  will  think  that 
I  have  utterly  vanished.  But  again,  and  again, 
and  again,  when  perhaps  you  least  dream  of  it, 
you  shall  see  the  glimmer  of  my  wings  on  the 
ceiling  of  your  cottage.  Yes,  my  dear  children, 
and  I  know  something  very  good  and  beautiful 
that  is  to  be  given  you  hereafter! " 

"  Oh  tell  us,"  they  exclaimed, — "tell  us  what 
it  is!" 

"Do  not  ask  me,"  replied  Hope,  putting  her 
finger  on  her  rosy  mouth.  "  But  do  not  des- 
pair, even  if  it  should  never  happen  while  you 
live  on  this  earth.  Trust  in  my  promise,  for  it 
is  true." 

"We  do  trust  you!"  cried  Epimetheus  and 
Pandora,  both  in  one  breath. 

And  so  they  did;  and  not  only  they,  but  so 
has  everybody  trusted  Hope,  that  has  since 
been  alive.  And  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  cannot 
help  being  glad — (though,  to  be  sure,  it  was  an 
uncommonly  naughty  thing  for  her  to  do) — 
but  I  cannot  help  being  glad  that  our  foolish 
Pandora  peeped  into  the  box.  No  doubt — no 
doubt — the  Troubles  are  still  flying  about  the 


124 


A  WONDER-BOOK. 


world,  and  have  increased  in  multitude,  rather 
than  lessened,  and  are  a  very  ugly  set  of  imps, 
and  carry  most  venomous  stings  in  their  tails. 
I  have  felt  them  already,  and  expect  to  feel 
them  more,  as  I  grow  older.  But  then  that 
lovely  and  lightsome  little  figure  of  Hope! 
What  in  the  world  could  we  do  without  her? 
Hope  spiritualizes  the  earth;  Hope  makes  it 
always  new;  and,  even  in  the  earth's  best  and 
brightest  aspect,  Hope  shows  it  to  be  only  the 
shadow  of  an  infinite  bliss  hereafter! 


TANGLEWOOD  PLAY-ROOM. 

AFTER   THE    STORY. 

"  Primrose,"  asked  Eustace,  pinching  her  ear, 
"how  do  you  like  my  little  Pandora?  Don't 
you  think  her  the  exact  picture  of  yourself? 
But  you  would  not  have  hesitated  half  so  long 
about  opening  the  box." 

"Then  I  should  have  been  well  punished  for 
my  naughtiness,"  retorted  Primrose,  smartly; 
"  for  the  first  thing  to  pop  out,  after  the  lid  was 
lifted,  would  have  been  Mr.  Eustace  Bright,  in 
the  shape  of  a  Trouble." 

"Cousin  Eustace,"  said  Sweet  Fern,  "did 
the  box  hold  all  the  trouble  that  has  ever  come 
into  the  world?" 

' '  Every  mite  of  it ! "  answere  d  Eustace .  ' '  This 
very  snow-storm,  which  has  spoiled  my  skating, 
was  packed  up  there." 

"And  how  big  was  the  box?"  asked  Sweet 
Fern. 

"Why,  perhaps  three  feet  long!"  said  Eus- 
tace, "  two  feet  wide,  and  two  feet  and  a  half 
high." 

"Ah,"  said  the  child,  "you  are  making  fun 
of  me,   Cousin  Eustace!     I  know  there  is  not 

125 


126  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

trouble  enough  in  the  world  to  fill  such  a  great 
box  as  that.  As  for  the  snow-storm,  it  is  no 
trouble  at  all,  but  a  pleasure;  so  it  could  not 
have  been  in  the  box." 

"  Hear  the  child!"  cried  Primrose,  with  an 
air  of  superiority.  "  How  little  he  knows  about 
the  troubles  of  this  world!  Poor  fellow!  He 
will  be  wiser  when  he  has  seen  as  much  of  life 
as  I  have." 

So  saying,  she  began  to  skip  the  rope. 

Meantime,  the  day  was  drawing  towards  its 
close.  Out  of  doors  the  scene  certainly  looked 
dreary.  There  was  a  gray  drift,  far  and  wide, 
through  the  gathering  twilight;  the  earth  was 
as  pathless  as  the  air;  and  the  bank  of  snow 
over  the  steps  of  the  porch  proved  that  nobody 
had  entered  or  gone  out  for  a  good  many  hours 
past.  Had  there  been  only  one  child  at  the 
window  of  Tanglewood,  gazing  at  this  wintry 
prospect,  it  would  perhaps  have  made  him  sad. 
But  half  a  dozen  children  together,  though  they 
cannot  quite  turn  the  world  into  a  paradise, 
may  defy  old  Winter  and  all  his  storms  to  put 
them  out  of  spirits.  Eustace  Bright,  moreover, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  invented  several 
new  kinds  of  play,  which  kept  them  all  in  a  roar 
of  merriment  till  bedtime,  and  served  for  the 
next  stormy  day  besides. 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES. 


TANGLEWOOD  FIRESIDE. 

INTRODUCTORY  TO  "THE  THREE  GOLDEN 
APPLES." 

The  snow-storm  lasted  another  day ;  but  what 
became  of  it  afterwards,  I  cannot  possibly 
imagine.  At  any  rate,  it  entirely  cleared  away 
during  the  night;  and  when  the  sun  arose  the 
next  morning,  it  shone  brightly  down  on  as 
bleak  a  tract  of  hill-country,  here  in  Berkshire, 
as  could  be  seen  anywhere  in  the  world.  The 
frost-work  had  so  covered  the  window-panes 
that  it  was  hardly  possible  to  get  a  glimpse  at 
the  scenery  outside.  But,  while  waiting  for 
breakfast,  the  small  populace  of  Tanglewood 
had  scratched  peep-holes  with  their  finger-nails, 
and  saw  with  vast  delight  that — unless  it  were 
one  or  two  bare  patches  on  a  precipitous  hill- 
side, or  the  gray  effect  of  the  snow,  intermingled 
with  the  black  pine  forest — all  nature  was  as 
white  as  a  sheet.  How  exceedingly  pleasant! 
And,  to  make  all  the  better,  it  was  cold  enough 
to  nip  one's  nose  short  off!  If  people  have  but 
life  enough  in  them  to  bear  it,  there  is  nothing 
that  so  raises  the  spirits,  and  makes  the  blood 

129 


i3o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

ripple  and  dance  so  nimbly,  like  a  brook  down 
the  slope  of  a  hill,  as  a  bright,  hard  frost. 

No  sooner  was  breakfast  over,  than  the  whole 
party,  well  muffled  in  furs  and  woollens,  floun- 
dered forth  into  the  midst  of  the  snow.  Well, 
what  a  day  of  frosty  sport  was  this!  They 
slid  down  hill  into  the  valley,  a  hundred  times, 
nobody  knows  how  far;  and,  to  make  it  all  the 
merrier,  upsetting  their  sledges,  and  tumbling 
head  over  heels,  quite  as  often  as  they  came 
safely  to  the  bottom.  And,  once,  Eustace 
Bright  took  Periwinkle,  Sweet  Fern,  and  Squash- 
Blossom,  on  the  sledge  with  him,  by  way  of 
insuring  a  safe  passage;  and  down  they  went, 
full  speed.  But,  behold,  half-way  down,  the 
sledge  hit  against  a  hidden  stump,  and  flung 
all  four  of  its  passengers  into  a  heap;  and,  on 
gathering  themselves  up  there  was  no  little 
Squash-Blossom  to  be  found!  Why,  what 
could  have  become  of  the  child?  And  while 
they  were  wondering  and  staring  about,  up 
started  Squash-Blossom  out  of  a  snow-bank, 
with  the  reddest  face  you  ever  saw,  and  looking 
as  if  a  large  scarlet  flower  had  suddenly  sprouted 
up  in  mid  winter.  Then  there  was  a  great 
laugh. 

When  they  had  grown  tired  of  sliding  down 
hill,  Eustace  set  the  children  to  digging  a  cave 
in  the  biggest  snow-drift  that  they  could  find. 
Unluckily,  just  as  it  was  completed,  and  the 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  131 

party  had  squeezed  themselves  into  the  hollow, 
down  came  the  roof  upon  their  heads,  and 
buried  every  soul  of  them  alive!  The  next 
moment,  up  popped  all  their  little  heads  out  of 
the  ruins,  and  the  tall  student's  head  in  the 
midst  of  them,  looking  hoary  and  venerable 
with  the  snow-dust  they  had  got  amongst  his 
brown  curls.  And  then,  to  punish  Cousin  Eus- 
tace for  advising  them  to  dig  such  a  tumble- 
down cavern,  the  children  attacked  him  in  a 
body,  and  so  bepelted  him  with  snowballs  that 
he  was  fain  to  take  to  his  heels. 

So  he  ran  away,  and  went  into  the  woods,  and 
thence  to  the  margin  of  Shadow  Brook,  where 
he  could  hear  the  streamlet  grumbling  along, 
under  great  over-hanging  banks  of  snow  and 
ice,  which  would  scarcely  let  it  see  the  light  of 
day.  There  were  adamantine  icicles  glittering 
around  all  its  little  cascades.  Thence  he  strolled 
to  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  beheld  a  white 
untrodden  plain  before  him,  stretching  from 
his  own  feet  to  the  foot  of  Monument  Mountain. 
And,  it  being  now  almost  sunset,  Eustace 
thought  that  he  had  never  beheld  anything  so 
fresh  and  beautiful  as  the  scene.  He  was  glad 
that  the  children  were  not  with  him;  for  their 
lively  spirits  and  tumble-about  activity  would 
quite  have  chased  away  his  higher  and  graver 
mood,  so  that  he  would  merely  have  been  merry 
(as  he  had  already  been,  the  whole  day  long), 


1 32  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

and  would  not  have  known  the  loveliness  of  the 
winter  sunset  among  the  hills. 

When  the  sun  was  fairly  down,  our  friend 
Eustace  went  home  to  eat  his  supper.  After 
the  meal  was  over,  he  betook  himself  to  the 
study,  with  a  purpose,  I  rather  imagine,  to 
write  an  ode,  or  two  or  three  sonnets,  or  verses 
of  some  kind  or  other,  in  praise  of  the  purple 
and  golden  clouds  which  he  had  seen  around 
the  setting  sun.  But  before  he  had  hammered 
out  the  very  first  rhyme,  the  door  opened,  and 
Primrose  and  Periwinkle  made  their  appearance. 

"Go  away,  children!  I  can't  be  troubled 
with  you  now!"  cried  the  student,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  with  the  pen  beween  his  fingers. 
"What  in  the  world  do  you  want  here?  I 
thought  you  were  all  in  bed ! ' ' 

"  Hear  him,  Periwinkle,  trying  to  talk  like  a 
grown  man!"  said  Primrose.  "And  he  seems 
to  forget  that  I  am  now  thirteen  years  old,  and 
may  sit  up  almost  as  late  as  I  please.  But 
Cousin  Eustace,  you  must  put  off  your  airs, 
and  come  with  us  to  the  drawing-room.  The 
children  have  talked  so  much  about  your  stories, 
that  my  father  wishes  to  hear  one  of  them,  in 
order  to  judge  whether  they  are  likely  to  do  any 
mischief." 

"  Poh,  poh,  Primrose!"  exclaimed  the  stu- 
dent, rather  vexed.  "  I  don't  believe  I  can  tell 
one  of  my  stories  in  the  presence  of  grown 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.     133 

people.  Besides,  your  father  is  a  classical 
scholar;  not  that  I  am  much  afraid  of  his 
scholarship,  neither,  for  I  doubt  not  it  is  as 
rusty  as  an  old  case-knife  by  this  time.  But 
then  he  will  be  sure  to  quarrel  with  the  admir- 
able nonsense  that  I  put  into  these  stories  out 
of  my  own  head,  and  which  makes  the  great 
charm  of  the  matter  for  children,  like  yourself. 
No  man  of  fifty,  who  has  read  the  classical 
myths  in  his  youth,  can  possibly  understand  my 
merit  as  a  rein ven tor  and  improver  of  them." 

"All  this  may  be  very  true,"  said  Primrose, 
"but  come  you  must!  My  father  will  not  open 
his  book,  nor  will  mamma  open  the  piano,  till 
you  have  given  us  some  of  your  nonsense,  as  you 
very  correctly  call  it.  So  be  a  good  boy,  and 
come  along. 

Whatever  he  might  pretend,  the  student  was 
rather  glad  than  otherwise,  on  second  thoughts, 
to  catch  at  the  opportunity  of  proving  to  Mr. 
Pringle  what  an  excellent  faculty  he  had  in 
modernizing  the  myths  of  ancient  times.  Until 
twenty  years  of  age,  a  young  man  may,  indeed, 
be  rather  bashful  about  showing  his  poetry  and 
his  prose;  but,  for  all  that,  he  is  pretty  apt  to 
think  that  these  very  productions  would  place 
him  at  the  tiptop  of  literature,  if  once  they  could 
be  known.  Accordingly,  without  much  more 
resistance,  Eustace  suffered  Primrose  and  Peri- 
winkle to  drag  him  into  the  drawing-room. 


i34  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

It  was  a  large,  handsome  apartment,  with  a 
semi-circular  window  at  one  end,  in  the  recess 
of  which  stood  a.  marble  copy  of  Greenough's 
Angel  and  Child.  On  one  side  of  the  fireplace 
there  were  many  shelves  of  books,  gravely  but 
richly  bound.  The  white  light  of  the  astral- 
lamp,  and  the  red  glow  of  the  bright  coal-fire, 
made  the  room  brilliant  and  cheerful ;  and  before 
the  fire,  in  a  deep  arm-chair,  sat  Mr.  Pringle, 
looking  just  fit  to  be  seated  in  such  a  chair,  and 
in  such  a  room.  He  was  a  tall  and  quite  a 
handsome  gentleman,  with  a  bald  brow;  and 
was  always  so  nicely  dressed,  that  even  Eustace 
Bright  never  liked  to  enter  his  presence  without 
at  least  pausing  at  the  threshold  to  settle  his 
shirt-collar.  But  now,  as  Primrose  had  hold 
of  one  of  his  hands,  and  Periwinkle  of  the  other, 
he  was  forced  to  make  his  appearance  with  a 
rough-and-tumble  sort  of  look,  as  if  he  had 
been  rolling  all  day  in  a  snow-bank.  And  so 
he  had. 

Mr.  Pringle  turned  towards  the  student 
benignly  enough,  but  in  a  way  that  made  him 
feel  how  uncombed  and  unbrushed  he  was,  and 
how  uncombed  and  unbrushed,  likewise,  were 
his  mind  and  thoughts. 

"Eustace,"  said  Mr.  Pringle  with  a  smile, 
"  I  find  that  you  are  producing  a  great  sensation 
among  the  little  public  of  Tanglewood,  by  the 
exericse  of  your  gifts  of  narrative.     Primrose 


Then  lie  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  told  them  the  story  of  his  life 


PitR?    '  I' 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  135 

here,  as  the  little  folks  choose  to  call  her,  and 
the  rest  of  the  children,  have  been  so  loud  in 
praise  of  your  stories,  that  Mrs.  Pringle  and 
myself  are  really  curious  to  hear  a  specimen.  It 
would  be  so  much  the  more  gratifying  to  myself 
as  the  stories  appear  to  be  an  attempt  to  render 
the  fables  of  classical  antiquity  into  the  idiom 
of  modern  fancy  and  feeling.  At  least,  so  I 
judge  from  a  few  of  the  incidents  which  have 
come  to  me  at  second  hand." 

"You  are  not  exactly  the  auditor  that  I 
should  have  chosen,  sir,"  observed  the  student, 
"for  fantasies  of  this  nature." 

"Possibly  not,"  replied  Mr.  Pringle.  "I 
suspect,  however,  that  a  young  author's  most 
useful  critic  is  precisely  the  one  whom  he  would 
be  least  apt  to  choose.  Pray  oblige  me,  there- 
fore." 

"  Sympathy,  methinks,  should  have  some 
little  share  in  the  critic's  qualifications,"  mur- 
mured Eustace  Bright.  "  However,  sir,  if  you 
will  find  patience,  I  will  find  stories.  But  he 
kind  enough  to  remember  that  I  am  addressing 
myself  to  the  imagination  and  sympathies  of  the 
children,  not  to  your  own." 

Accordingly,  the  student  snatched  hold  of  the 
first  theme  which  presented  itself.  It  was 
suggested  by  a  plate  of  apples  that  he  happened 
to  spy  on  the  mantel-piece. 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES. 

Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  golden  apples,  that 
grew  in  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides!  Ah, 
those  were  such  apples  as  would  bring  a  great 
price,  by  the  bushel,  if  any  of  them  could  be 
found  growing  in  the  orchards  of  nowadays! 
But  there  is  not,  I  suppose,  a  graft  of  that 
wonderful  fruit  on  a  single  tree  in  the  wide 
world.  Not  so  much  as  a  seed  of  those  apples 
exists  any  longer. 

And,  even  in  the  old,  old,  half-forgotten 
times,  before  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides  was 
overrun  with  weeds,  a  great  many  people 
doubted  whether  there  could  be  real  trees  that 
bore  apples  of  solid  gold  upon  their  branches. 
All  had  heard  of  them,  but  nobody  remembered 
to  have  seen  any.  Children,  nevertheless,  used 
to  listen,  open-mouthed,  to  stories  of  the  golden 
apple-tree,  and  resolved  to  discover  it,  when 
they  should  be  big  enough.  Adventurous  young 
men,  who  desired  to  do  a  braver  thing  than  any 
of  their  fellows,  set  out  in  quest  of  this  fruit. 
Many  of  them  returned  no  more;  none  of  them 
brought  back  the  apples.  No  wonder  that  they 
found    it    impossible    to    gather    them!       It 

136 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  137 

is  said  that  there  was  a  dragon  beneath  the 
tree,  with  a  hundred  terrible  heads,  fifty  of 
which  were  always  on  the  watch,  while  the  other 
fifty  slept. 

In  my  opinion  it  was  hardly  worth  running  so 
much  risk  for  the  sake  of  a  solid  golden  apple. 
Had  the  apples  been  sweet,  mellow,  and  juicy, 
indeed  that  would  be  another  matter.  There 
might  then  have  been  some  sense  in  trying  to 
get  at  them,  in  spite  of  the  hundred-headed 
dragon. 

But,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  it  was  quite 
a  common  thing  with  young  persons,  when 
tired  of  too  much  peace  and  rest,  to  go  in  search 
of  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides.  And  once  the 
adventure  was  undertaken  by  a  hero  who  had 
enjoyed  very  little  peace  or  rest  since  he  came 
into  the  world.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am 
going  to  speak,  he  was  wandering  through  the 
pleasant  land  of  Italy,  with  a  mighty  club  in 
his  hand,  and  a  bow  and  quiver  slung  across 
his  shoulders.  He  was  wrapt  in  the  skin  of  the 
biggest  and  fiercest  lion  that  ever  had  been  seen, 
and  which  he  himself  had  killed;  and  though, 
on  the  whole,  he  was  kind,  and  generous,  and 
noble,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  the  lion's  fierce- 
ness in  his  heart.  As  he  went  on  his  way,  he 
continually  inquired  whether  that  were  the  right 
road  to  the  famous  garden.  But  none  of  the 
country  people  knew  anything  about  the  matter, 


138  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

and  many  looked  as  if  they  would  have  laughed 
at  the  question,  if  the  stranger  had  not  carried 
so  very  big  a  club. 

So  he  journeyed  on  and  on,  still  making  the 
same  inquiry,  until,  at  last,  he  came  to  the 
brink  of  a  river  where  some  beautiful  young 
women  sat  twining  wreaths  of  flowers. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  pretty  maidens,"  asked 
the  stranger,  "  whether  this  is  the  right  way  to 
the  garden  of  the  Hesperides?" 

The  young  women  had  been  having  a  fine 
time  together,  weaving  the  flowers  into  wreaths, 
and  crowning  one  another's  heads.  And  there 
seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  magic  in  the  touch  of 
their  fingers,  that  made  the  flowers  more  fresh 
and  dewy,  and  of  brighter  hues,  and  sweeter 
fragrance,  while  they  played  with  them,  than 
even  when  they  had  been  growing  on  their 
native  stems.  But,  on  hearing  the  stranger's 
question,  they  dropped  all  their  flowers  on  the 
grass,  and  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"The  garden  of  the  Hesperides!"  cried  one. 
"We  thought  mortals  had  been  weary  of  seek- 
ing it,  after  so  many  disappointments.  And 
pray,  adventurous  traveller,  what  do  you  want 
there?" 

"A  certain  king,  who  is  my  cousin,"  replied 
he,  "has  ordered  me  to  get  him  three  of  the 
golden  apples." 

''Most  of  the  young  men  who  go  in  quest  of 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  139 

these  apples,"  observed  another  of  the  damsels, 
"desire  to  obtain  them  for  themselves,  or  to 
present  them  to  some  fair  maiden  whom  they 
love  Do  you,  then,  love  this  king,  your  cousin, 
so  very  much?" 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  the  stranger,  sighing. 
"He  has  often  been  severe  and  cruel  to  me. 
But  it  is  my  destiny  to  obey  him." 

"And  do  you  know,"  asked  the  damsel  who 
had  first  spoken,  "that  a  terrible  dragon,  with 
a  hundred  heads,  keeps  watch  under  the  golden 
apple-tree?" 

"I  know  it  well,"  answered  the  stranger, 
calmly.  "  But,  from  my  cradle  upwards,  it 
has  been  my  business,  and  almost  my  pastime, 
to  deal  with  serpents  and  dragons." 

The  young  women  looked  to  his  massive  club, 
and  at  the  shaggy  lion's  skin  which  he  wore, 
and  likewise  at  his  heroic  limbs  and  figure; 
and  they  whispered  to  each  other  that  the 
stranger  appeared  to  be  one  who  might  reason- 
ably expect  to  perform  deeds  far  beyond  the 
might  of  other  men.  But,  then,  the  dragon 
with  a  hundred  heads!  What  mortal,  even 
if  he  possessed  a  hundred  lives,  could  hope  to 
escape  the  fangs  of  such  a  monster?  So  kind- 
hearted  were  the  maidens,  that  they  could  not 
bear  to  see  this  brave  and  handsome  traveller 
attempt  what  was  so  very  dangerous,  and 
devote  himself,   most  probably,   to  become  a 


i4o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

meal  for  the  dragon's  hundred  ravenous 
mouths. 

" Go  back,"  cried  they  all, — "go  back  to  your 
own  home!  Your  mother,  beholding  you  safe 
and  sound,  will  shed  tears  of  joy;  and  what  can 
she  do  more,  should  you  win  ever  so  great  a 
victory?  No  matter  for  the  golden  apples! 
No  matter  for  the  king,  your  cruel  cousin !  We 
do  not  wish  the  dragon  with  the  hundred  heads 
to  eat  you  up!" 

The  stranger  seemed  to  grow  impatient  at 
these  remonstrances.  He  carelessly  lifted  his 
mighty  club,  and  let  it  fall  upon  a  rock  that  lay 
half  buried  in  the  earth,  near  by.  With  the 
force  of  that  idle  blow,  the  great  rock  was 
shattered  all  to  pieces.  It  cost  the  stranger 
no  more  effort  to  achieve  this  feat  of  a  giant's 
strength  than  for  one  of  the  young  maidens  to 
touch  her  sister's  rosy  cheek  with  a  flower. 

"Do  you  not  believe,"  said  he,  looking  at 
the  damsels  with  a  smile,  "  that  such  a  blow 
would  have  crashed  one  of  the  dragon's  hundred 
heads?" 

Then  he  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  told  them 
the  story  of  his  life,  or  as  much  of  it  as  he  could 
remember  from  the  day  when  he  was  first 
cradled  in  a  warrior's  brazen  shield.  While  he 
lay  there,  two  immense  serpents  came  gliding 
over  the  floor,  and  opened  their  hideous  jaws 
to  devour  him;  and  he,  a  baby  of  a  few  months 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.     141 

old,  had  griped  one  of  the  fierce  snakes  in  each 
of  his  little  fists,  and  strangled  them  to  death. 
When  he  was  but  a  stripling,  he  had  killed  a 
huge  lion,  almost  as  big  as  the  one  whose  vast 
and  shaggy  hide  he  now  wore  upon  his  shoulders. 
The  next  thing  that  he  had  done  was  to  fight 
a  battle  with  an  ugly  sort  of  monster,  called 
a  hydra,  which  had  no  less  than  nine  heads,  and 
exceedingly  sharp  teeth  in  every  one. 

"  But  the  dragon  of  the  Hesperides,  you 
know,"  observed  one  of  the  damsels,  "has  a 
hundred  heads!" 

"  Nevertheless,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  I  would 
rather  fight  two  such  dragons  than  a  single 
hydra.  For,  as  fast  as  I  cut  off  a  head,  two 
others  grew  in  its  place;  and,  besides,  there 
was  one  of  the  heads  that  could  not  possibly  be 
killed,  but  kept  biting  as  fiercely  as  ever,  long 
after  it  was  cut  off.  So  I  was  forced  to  bury  it 
under  a  stone,  where  it  is  doubtless  alive  to  this 
very  day.  But  the  hydra's  body  and  its  eight 
other  heads,  will  never  do  any  further  mischief." 

The  damsels,  judging  that  the  story  was 
likely  to  last  a  good  while,  had  been  preparing 
a  repast  of  bread  and  grapes,  that  the  stranger 
might  refresh  himself  in  the  intervals  of  his  talk. 
They  took  pleasure  in  helping  him  to  this  simple 
food;  and,  now  and  then,  one  of  them  would 
put  a  sweet  grape  between  her  rosy  lips,  lest 
it  should  make  him  bashful  to  eat  alone. 


i42  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

The  traveller  proceeded  to  tell  how  he  had 
chased  a  very  swift  stag,  for  a  twelvemonth 
together,  without  ever  stopping  to  take  breath, 
and  had  at  last  caught  it  by  the  antlers,  and 
carried  it  home  alive.  And  he  had  fought  with 
a  very  odd  race  of  people,  half  horses  and  half 
men,  and  had  put  them  all  to  death,  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  in  order  that  their  ugly  figures 
might  never  be  seen  any  more.  Besides  all 
this,  he  took  to  himself  great  credit  for  having 
cleaned  out  a  stable. 

"Do  you  call  that  a  wonderful  exploit?" 
asked  one  of  the  young  maidens,  with  a  smile. 
"Any  clown  in  the  country  has  done  as  much!" 

"Had  it  been  an  ordinary  stable,"  replied 
the  stranger,  "  I  should  not  have  mentioned  it. 
But  this  was  so  gigantic  a  task  that  it  would 
have  taken  me  all  my  life  to  perform  it,  if  I  had 
not  luckily  thought  of  turning  the  channel  of  a 
river  through  the  stable-door.  That  did  the 
business  in  a  very  short  time!" 

Seeing  how  earnestly  his  fair  auditors  listened, 
he  next  told  them  how  he  had  shot  some  mon- 
strous birds,  and  had  caught  a  wild  bull  alive 
and  let  him  go  again,  and  had  tamed  a  number 
of  very  wild  horses,  and  had  conquered  Hippo- 
lyta,  the  warlike  queen  of  the  Amazons.  He 
mentioned,  likewise,  that  he  had  taken  off 
Hippolyta's  enchanted  girdle,  and  had  given  it 
to  the  daughter  of  his  cousin,  the  king. 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.     143 

"Was  it  the  girdle  of  Venus,"  inquired  the 
prettiest  of  the  damsels,  "which  makes  women 
beautiful?" 

"No,"  answered  the  stranger.  "It  had  for- 
merly been  the  sword-belt  of  Mars;  and  it  can 
only  make  the  wearer  valiant  and  coura- 
geous." 

"An  old  sword-belt!"  cried  the  damsel, 
tossing  her  head.  "Then  I  should  not  care 
about  having  it!" 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  stranger. 

Going  on  with  his  wonderful  narrative,  he 
informed  the  maidens  that  as  strange  an  adven- 
ture as  ever  happened  was,  when  he  fought  with 
Geryon,  the  six-legged  man.  This  was  a  very 
odd  and  frightful  sort  of  figure,  as  you  may  well 
believe.  Any  person,  looking  at  his  tracks  in 
the  sand  or  snow,  would  suppose  that  three 
sociable  companions  had  been  walking  along 
together.  On  hearing  his  footsteps  at  a  little 
distance,  it  was  no  more  than  reasonable  to 
judge  that  several  people  must  be  coming.  But 
it  was  only  the  strange  man  Geryon  clattering 
onward,  with  his  six  legs! 

Six  legs,  and  one  gigantic  body!  Certainly, 
he  must  have  been  a  very  queer  monster  to  look 
at;  and,  my  stars,  what  a  waste  of  shoe-leather! 

When  the  stranger  had  finished  the  story  of 
his  adventures,  he  looked  around  at  the  atten- 
tive faces  of  the  maidens. 
10 


144  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  heard  of  me  before," 
said  he,   modestly.     "My  name  is  Hercules!" 

"We  had  already  guessed  it,"  replied  the 
maidens;  "for  your  wonderful  deeds  are  known 
all  over  the  world.  We  do  not  think  it  strange, 
any  longer,  that  you  should  set  out  in  quest  of 
the  golden  apples  of  the  Hesperides.  Come, 
sisters,  let  us  crown  the  hero  with  flowers!" 

Then  they  flung  beautiful  wreaths  over  his 
stately  head  and  mighty  shoulders,  so  that  the 
lion's  skin  was  almost  entirely  covered  with 
roses.  They  took  possession  of  his  ponderous 
club,  and  so  entwined  it  about  with  the  bright- 
est, softest,  and  most  fragrant  blossoms,  that 
not  a  finger's  breadth  of  its  oaken  substance 
could  be  seen.  It  looked  all  like  a  huge  bunch 
of  flowers.  Lastly,  they  joined  hands,  and 
danced  around  him,  chanting  words  which 
became  poetry  of  their  own  accord,  and  grew 
into  a  choral  song,  in  honor  of  the  illustrious 
Hercules. 

And  Hercules  was  rejoiced,  as  any  other  hero 
would  have  been,  to  know  that  these  fair  young 
girls  had  heard  of  the  valiant  deeds  which  it 
had  cost  him  so  much  toil  and  danger  to  achieve. 
But,  still,  he  was  not  satisfied.  He  could  not 
think  that  what  he  had  already  done  was  worthy 
of  so  much  honor,  while  there  remained  any  bold 
or  difficult  adventure  to  be  undertaken. 

"Dear  maidens,"  said  he,  when  they  paused 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.     145 

to  take  breath,  "now  that  you  know  my  name, 
will  you  not  tell  me  how  I  am  to  reach  the  garden 
of  the  Hesperides?" 

"Ah!  must  you  go  so  soon?"  they  exclaimed. 
"You — that  have  performed  so  many  wonders, 
and  spent  such  a  toilsome  life — cannot  you 
content  yourself  to  repose  a  little  while  on  the 
margin  of  this  peaceful  river?" 

Hercules  shook  his  head. 

"  I  must  depart  now,"  said  he. 

"We  will  then  give  you  the  best  directions 
we  can,"  replied  the  damsels.  "You  must  go 
to  the  sea-shore,  and  find  out  the  Old  One,  and 
compel  him  to  inform  you  where  the  golden 
apples  are  to  be  found." 

"The  Old  One!"  repeated  Hercules,  laughing 
at  this  odd  name.  "And,  pray,  who  may  the 
Old  One  be?" 

"Why,  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  to  be  sure!" 
answered  one  of  the  damsels.  "  He  has  fifty 
daughters,  whom  some  people  call  very  beauti- 
ful ;  but  we  do  not  think  it  proper  to  be  acquain- 
ted with  them  because  they  have  sea-green 
hair,  and  taper  away  like  fishes.  You  must 
talk  with  this  Old  Man  of  the  Sea.  He  is  a 
sea-faring  person,  and  knows  all  about  the 
garden  of  the  Hesperides;  for  it  is  situated  in 
an  island  which  he  is  often  in  the  habit  of 
visiting." 

Hercules   then   asked   whereabouts   the   Old 


146  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

One  was  most  likely  to  be  met  with.  When 
the  damsels  had  informed  him,  he  thanked 
them  for  all  their  kindness, — for  the  bread  and 
grapes  with  which  they  had  fed  him,  the  lovely 
flowers  with  which  they  had  crowned  him,  and 
the  songs  and  dances  wherewith  they  had  done 
him  honor, — and  he  thanked  them,  most  of  all, 
for  telling  him  the  right  way, — and  immedi- 
ately set  forth  upon  his  journey. 

But,  before  he  was  out  of  hearing,  one  of  the 
maidens  called  after  him. 

"  Keep  fast  hold  of  the  Old  One,  when  you 
catch  him!"  cried  she,  smiling,  and  lifting  her 
finger  to  make  the  caution  more  impressive. 
"  Do  not  be  astonished  at  anything  that  may 
happen.  Only  hold  him  fast,  and  he  will  tell 
you  what  you  wish  to  know." 

Hercules  again  thanked  her,  and  pursued  his 
way,  while  the  maidens  resumed  their  pleasant 
labor  of  making  flower- wreaths.  They  talked 
about  the  hero,  long  after  he  was  gone. 

"We  will  crown  him  with  the  loveliest  of  our 
garlands,"  said  they,  "when  he  returns  hither 
with  the  three  golden  apples,  after  slaying  the 
dragon  with  a  hundred  heads." 

Meanwhile,  Hercules  travelled  constantly 
onward,  over  hill  and  dale,  and  through  the  soli- 
tary woods.  Sometimes  he  swung  his  club  aloft, 
and  splintered  a  mighty  oak  with  a  downright 
blow.     His  mind  was  so  full  of  the  giants  and 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  147 

monsters  with  whom  it  was  the  business  of  his 
life  to  fight,  that  perhaps  he  mistook  the  great 
tree  for  a  giant  or  a  monster.  And  so  eager 
was  Hercules  to  achieve  what  he  had  undertaken, 
that  he  almost  regretted  to  have  spent  so  much 
time  with  the  damsels,  wasting  idle  breath 
upon  the  story  of  his  adventures.  But  thus  it 
always  is  with  persons  who  are  destined  to 
perform  great  things.  What  they  have  already 
done  seems  less  than  nothing.  What  they  have 
taken  in  hand  to  do  seems  worth  toil,  danger, 
and  life  itself. 

Persons  who  happened  to  be  passing  through 
the  forest  must  have  been  affrighted  to  see  him 
smite  the  trees  with  his  great  club.  With  but 
a  single  blow,  the  trunk  was  riven  as  by  the 
stroke  of  lightning,  and  the  broad  boughs  came 
rustling  and  crashing  down. 

Hastening  forward,  without  ever  pausing  or 
looking  behind,  he  by  and  by  heard  the  sea 
roaring  at  a  distance.  At  this  sound,  he 
increased  his  speed,  and  soon  came  to  a  beach, 
where  the  great  surf -waves  tumbled  themselves 
upon  the  hard  sand,  in  a  long  line  of  snowy  foam. 
At  one  end  of  the  beach,  however,  there  was  a 
pleasant  spot,  where  some  green  shrubbery 
clambered  up  a  cliff,  making  its  rocky  face  look 
soft  and  beautiful.  A  carpet  of  verdant  grass, 
largely  intermixed  with  sweet-smelling  clover, 
covered  the  narrow  space  between  the  bottom 


148  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

of  the  cliff  and  the  sea.  And  what  should 
Hercules  espy  there,  but  an  old  man  fast 
asleep ! 

But  was  it  really  and  truly  an  old  man? 
Certainly,  at  first  sight,  it  looked  very  like  one; 
but,  on  closer  inspection,  it  rather  seemed  to 
be  some  kind  of  a  creature  that  lived  in  the  sea. 
For,  on  his  legs,  and  arms  there  were  scales  such 
as  fishes  have;  he  was  web-footed  and  web- 
fingered,  after  the  fashion  of  a  duck;  and  his 
long  beard,  being  of  a  greenish  tinge,  had  more 
the  appearance  of  a  tuft  of  sea- weed  than  of  an 
ordinary  beard.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  stick  of 
timber,  that  has  been  long  tossed  about  by  the 
waves,  and  has  got  all  ovei grown  with  barnacles, 
and,  at  last  drifting  ashore,  seems  to  have  been 
thrown  up  from  the  very  deepest  bottom  of  the 
sea.  Well,  the  old  man  would  have  put  you 
in  mind  of  just  such  a  wave-tost  spar!  But 
Hercules,  the  instant  he  set  eyes  on  this  strange 
figure,  was  convinced  that  it  could  be  no  other 
than  the  Old  One,  who  was  to  direct  him  on  his 
way. 

Yes,  it  was  the  selfsame  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 
whom  the  hospitable  maidens  had  talked  to  him 
about.  Thanking  his  stars  for  the  lucky  acci- 
dent of  finding  the  old  fellow  asleep,  Hercules 
stole  on  tiptoe  towards  him,  and  caught  him  by 
the  arm  and  leg. 

"Tell  me,"  cried  he,  before  the  Old  One  was 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  149 

well  awake,  "which  is  the  way  to  the  garden  of 
the  Hesperides?" 

As  you  may  easily  imagine,  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea  awoke  in  a  fright.  But  his  astonish- 
ment could  hardly  have  been  greater  than  was 
that  of  Hercules,  the  next  moment.  For,  all 
of  a  sudden,  the  Old  One  seemed  to  disappear 
out  of  his  grasp,  and  he  found  himself  holding 
a  stag  by  the  fore  and  hind  leg!  But  still  he 
kept  fast  hold.  Then  the  stag  disappeared, 
and  in  its  stead  there  was  a  sea-bird,  fluttering 
and  screaming,  while  Hercules  clutched  it  by 
the  wing  and  claw !  But  the  bird  could  not  get 
away.  Immediately  afterwards,  there  was  an 
ugly  three-headed  dog,  which  growled  and 
barked  at  Hercules,  and  snapped  fiercely  at 
the  hands  by  which  he  held  him !  But  Hercules 
would  not  let  him  go.  In  another  minute, 
instead  of  the  three-headed  dog,  what  should 
appear  but  Geryon,  the  six-legged  man-monster, 
kicking  at  Hercules  with  five  of  his  legs,  in 
order  to  get  the  remaining  one  at  liberty!  But 
Hercules  held  on.  By  and  by,  no  Geryon  was 
there,  but  a  huge  snake,  like  one  of  those  which 
Hercules  had  strangled  in  his  babyhood,  only  a 
hundred  times  as  big ;  and  it  twisted  and  twined 
about  the  hero's  neck  and  body,  and  threw  its 
tail  high  into  the  air,  and  opened  its  deadly 
jaws  as  if  to  devour  him  outright;  so  that  it 
was    really    a    very    terrible    spectacle!     But 


iSo  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Hercules  was  no  whit  disheartened,  and  squeezed 
the  great  snake  so  tightly  that  he  soon  began  to 
hiss  with  pain. 

You  must  understand  that  the  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea,  though  he  generally  looked  so  much 
like  the  wave-beaten  figure-head  of  a  vessel, 
had  the  power  of  assuming  any  shape  he  pleased. 
When  he  found  himself  so  roughly  seized  by 
Hercules,  he  had  been  in  hopes  of  putting  him 
into  such  surprise  and  terror,  by  these  magical 
transformations  that  the  hero  would  be  glad 
to  let  him  go.  If  Hercules  had  relaxed  his 
grasp,  the  Old  One  would  certainly  have  plunged 
down  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  sea,  whence  he 
would  not  soon  have  given  himself  the  trouble 
of  coming  up,  in  order  to  answer  any  impertinent 
questions.  Ninety-nine  people  out  of  a  hundred 
I  suppose,  would  have  been  frightened  out  of 
their  wits  by  the  very  first  of  his  ugly  shapes, 
and  would  have  taken  to  their  heels  at  once. 
For,  one  of  the  hardest  things  in  this  world  is, 
to  see  the  difference  between  real  dangers  and 
imaginary  ones. 

But,  as  Hercules  held  on  so  stubbornly,  and 
only  squeezed  the  Old  One  so  much  the  tighter 
at  every  change  of  shape,  and  really  put  him  to 
no  small  torture,  he  finally  thought  it  best  to 
reappear  in  his  own  figure.  So  there  he  was  again, 
a  fishy,  scaly,  web-footed  sort  of  personage  with 
something  like  a  tuft  of  sea-weed  at  his  chin. 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  151 

"Pray,  what  do  you  want  with  me?"  cried 
the  Old  One,  as  soon  as  he  could  take  breath; 
for  it  is  quite  a  tiresome  affair  to  go  through  so 
many  false  shapes.  "Why  do  you  squeeze  me 
so  hard?  Let  me  go,  this  moment,  or  I  shall 
begin  to  consider  you  an  extremely  uncivil 
person ! ' ' 

"My  name  is  Hercules!"  roared  the  mighty 
stranger.  "And  you  will  never  get  out  of  my 
clutch,  until  you  tell  me  the  nearest  way  to  the 
garden  of  the  Hesperides ! ' ' 

When  the  old  fellow  heard  who  it  was  that 
had  caught  him,  he  saw,  with  half  an  eye,  that 
it  would  be  necessary  to  tell  him  everything 
that  he  wanted  to  know.  The  Old  One  was  an 
inhabitant  of  the  sea,  you  must  recollect,  and 
roamed  about  everywhere,  like  other  sea-faring 
people.  Of  course,  he  had  often  heard  of  the 
fame  of  Hercules,  and  of  the  wonderful  things 
that  he  was  constantly  performing  in  various 
parts  of  the  earth,  and  how  determined  he  always 
was  to  accomplish  whatever  he  undertook.  He 
therefore  made  no  more  attempts  to  escape, 
but  told  the  hero  how  to  find  the  garden  of  the 
Hesperides,  and  likewise  warned  him  of  many 
difficulties  which  must  be  overcome,  before  he 
could  arrive  thither. 

"You  must  go  on,  thus  and  thus,"  said  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  after  taking  the  points  of 
the  compass,  "  till  you  come  in  sight  of  a  very 


152  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

tall  giant,  who  holds  the  sky  on  his  shoulders. 
And  the  giant,  if  he  happens  to  be  in  the  humor, 
will  tell  you  exactly  where  the  garden  of  the 
Hesperides  lies." 

"And  if  the  giant  happens  not  to  be  in  the 
humor,"  remarked  Hercules,  balancing  his  club 
on  the  tip  of  his  finger,  "  perhaps  I  shall  find 
means  to  persuade  him ! ' ' 

Thanking  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  and  begging 
his  pardon  for  having  squeezed  him  so  roughly, 
the  hero  resumed  his  journey.  He  met  with  a 
great  many  strange  adventures,  which  would 
be  well  worth  your  hearing,  if  I  had  leisure  to 
narrate  them  as  minutely  as  they  deserve. 

It  was  in  this  journey,  if  I  mistake  not,  that 
he  encountered  a  prodigious  giant,  who  was 
so  wonderfully  contrived  by  nature,  that,  every 
time  he  touched  the  earth,  he  became  ten  times 
as  strong  as  ever  he  had  been  before.  His  name 
was  Antaeus.  You  may  see,  plainly  enough, 
that  it  was  a  very  difficult  business  to  fight 
with  such  a  fellow;  for,  as  often  as  he  got  a 
knock-down  blow,  up  he  started  again,  stronger, 
fiercer,  and  abler  to  use  his  weapons,  than  if  his 
enemy  had  let  him  alone.  Thus,  the  harder 
Hercules  pounded  the  giant  with  his  club,  the 
further  he  seemed  from  winning  the  victory. 
I  have  sometimes  argued  with  such  people,  but 
never  fought  with  one.  The  only  way  in  which 
Hercules  found  it  possible  to  finish  the  battle, 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  153 

was  by  lifting  Antaeus  off  his  feet  into  the  air, 
and  squeezing,  and  squeezing,  and  squeezing 
him,  until  finally,  the  strength  was  quite 
squeezed  out  of  his  enormous  body. 

When  this  affair  was  finished,  Hercules  con- 
tinued his  travels,  and  went  to  the  land  of 
Egypt,  where  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  would 
have  been  put  to  death,  if  he  had  not  slain  the 
king  of  the  country,  and  made  his  escape. 
Passing  through  the  deserts  of  Africa,  and  going 
as  fast  as  he  could,  he  arrived  at  last  on  the 
shore  of  the  great  ocean.  And  here,  unless  he 
could  walk  on  the  crests  of  the  billows,  it  seemed 
as  if  his  journey  must  needs  be  at  an  end. 

Nothing  was  before  him,  save  the  foaming, 
dashing,  measureless  ocean.  But,  suddenly,  as 
he  looked  towards  the  horizon,  he  saw  some- 
thing, a  great  way  off,  which  he  had  not  seen  the 
moment  before.  It  gleamed  very  brightly, 
almost  as  you  may  have  beheld  the  round, 
golden  disk  of  the  sun,  when  it  rises  or  sets  over 
the  edge  of  the  world.  It  evidently  drew 
nearer;  for,  at  every  instant,  this  wonderful 
object  became  larger  and  more  lustrous.  At 
length,  it  had  come  so  nigh  that  Hercules  dis- 
covered it  to  be  an  immense  cup  or  bowl,  made 
either  of  gold  or  burnished  brass.  How  it  had 
got  afloat  upon  the  sea  is  more  than  I  can  tell 
you.  There  it  was,  at  all  events,  rolling  on  the 
tumultuous   billows,   which   tossed   it   up   and 


i54  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

down,  and  heaved  their  foamy  tops  against  its 
sides,  but  without  ever  throwing  their  spray 
over  the  brim. 

"I  have  seen  many  giants  in  my  time," 
thought  Hercules,  "but  never  one  that  would 
need  to  drink  his  wine  out  of  a  cup  like  this!" 

And,  true  enough,  what  a  cup  it  must  have 
been!  It  was  as  large — as  large — but,  in  short, 
I  am  afraid  to  say  how  immeasurably  large  it 
was.  To  speak  within  bounds,  it  was  ten  times 
larger  than  a  great  mill-wheel ;  and,  all  of  metal 
as  it  was,  it  floated  over  the  heaving  surges 
more  lightly  than  an  acorn-cup  adown  the 
brook.  The  waves  tumbled  it  onward,  until  it 
grazed  against  the  shore,  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  spot  where  Hercules  was  standing. 

As  soon  as  this  happened,  he  knew  what  was 
to  be  done;  for  he  had  not  gone  through  so 
many  remarkable  adventures  without  learning 
pretty  well  how  to  conduct  himself,  whenever 
anything  came  to  pass  a  little  out  of  the  common 
rule.  It  was  just  as  clear  as  daylight  that  this 
marvellous  cup  had  been  set  adrift  by  some 
unseen  power,  and  guided  hitherward,  in  order 
to  carry  Hercules  across  the  sea,  on  his  way  to 
the  garden  of  the  Hesperides.  Accordingly, 
without  a  moment's  delay,  he  clambered  over 
the  brim,  and  slid  down  on  the  inside,  where, 
spreading  out  his  lion's  skin,  he  proceeded  to 
take  a  little  repose.     He  had  scarcely  rested, 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  155 

until  now,  since  he  bade  farewell  to  the  damsels 
on  the  margin  of  the  river.  The  waves  dashed, 
with  a  pleasant  and  ringing  sound,  against  the 
circumference  of  the  hollow  cup;  it  rocked 
lightly  to  and  fro  and  the  motion  was  so  sooth- 
ing that  it  speedily  rocked  Hercules  into  an 
agreeable  slumber. 

His  nap  had  probably  lasted  a  good  while, 
when  the  cup  chanced  to  graze  against  a  rock, 
and,  in  consequence,  immediately  resounded 
and  reverberated  through  its  golden  or  brazen 
substance,  a  hundred  times  as  loudly  as  ever 
you  heard  a  church-bell.  The  noise  awoke 
Hercules,  who  instantly  started  up  and  gazed 
around  him,  wondering  whereabouts  he  was. 
He  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  the  cup  had 
floated  across  a  great  part  of  the  sea,  and  was 
approaching  the  shore  of  what  seemed  to  be  an 
island.  And,  on  that  island,  what  do  you  think 
he  saw? 

No ;  you  will  never  guess  it,  not  if  you  were 
to  try  fifty  thousand  times!  It  positively 
appears  to  me  that  this  was  the  most  marvellous 
spectacle  that  had  ever  been  seen  by  Hercules, 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  wonderful  travels  and 
adventures.  It  was  a  greater  marvel  than  the 
hydra  with  nine  heads,  which  kept  growing 
twice  as  fast  as  they  were  cut  off;  greater  than 
the  six-legged  man -monster;  greater  than 
Antaeus;  greater  than  anything  that  was  ever 


156  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

beheld  by  anybody,  before  or  since  the  days  of 
Hercules,  or  than  anything  that  remains  to  be 
beheld,  by  travellers  in  all  time  to  come.  It 
was  a  giant! 

But  such  an  intolerably  big  giant!  A  giant 
as  tall  as  a  mountain;  so  vast  a  giant,  that  the 
clouds  rested  about  his  midst,  like  a  girdle,  and 
hung  like  a  hoary  beard  from  his  chin,  and 
flitted  before  his  huge  eyes,  so  that  he  could 
neither  see  Hercules  nor  the  golden  cup  in  which 
he  was  voyaging.  And,  most  wonderful  of  all, 
the  giant  held  up  his  great  hands  and  appeared 
to  support  the  sky,  which,  so  far  as  Hercules 
could  discern  through  the  clouds,  was  resting 
upon  his  head!  This  does  really  seem  almost 
too  much  to  believe. 

Meanwhile,  the  bright  cup  continued  to  float 
onward,  and  finally  touched  the  strand.  Just 
then  a  breeze  wafted  away  the  clouds  from 
before  the  giant's  visage,  and  Hercules  beheld 
it,  with  all  its  enormous  features;  eyes  each  of 
them  as  big  as  yonder  lake,  a  nose  a  mile  long, 
and  a  mouth  of  the  same  width.  It  was  a 
countenance  terrible  from  its  enormity  of  size, 
but  disconsolate  and  weary,  even  as  you  may 
see  the  faces  of  many  people,  nowadays,  who 
are  compelled  to  sustain  burdens  above  their 
strength.  What  the  sky  was  to  the  giant,  such 
are  the  cares  of  the  earth  to  those  who  let  them- 
selves be  weighed  down  by  them.     And  when- 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  157 

ever  men  undertake  what  is  beyond  the  just 
measure  of  their  abilities  they  encounter  pre- 
cisely such  a  doom  as  had  befallen  this  poor 
giant. 

Poor  fellow!  He  had  evidently  stood  there 
a  long  while.  An  ancient  forest  had  been 
growing  and  decaying  around  his  feet;  and  oak 
trees,  of  six  or  seven  centuries  old,  had  sprung 
from  the  acorn,  and  forced  themselves  between 
his  toes. 

The  giant  now  looked  down  from  the  far 
height  of  his  great  eyes,  and,  perceiving,  Her- 
cules, roared  out,  in  a  voice  that  resembled 
thunder,  proceeding  out  of  the  cloud  that  had 
just  flitted  away  from  his  face. 

"  Who  are  you,  down  at  my  feet  there?  And 
whence  do  you  come,  in  that  little  cup?" 

"I  am  Hercules!"  thundered  back  the  hero, 
in  a  voice  pretty  nearly  or  quite  as  loud  as  the 
giant's  own.  "  And  I  am  seeking  for  the  garden 
of  the  Hesperides!" 

"Ho!  ho!  ho!"  roared  the  giant,  in  a  fit  of 
immense  laughter.  "That  is  a  wise  adventure, 
truly!" 

"And  why  not?"  cried  Hercules,  getting  a 
little  angry  at  the  giant's  mirth.  "  Do  you 
think  I  am  afraid  of  the  dragon  with  a  hundred 
heads?" 

Just  at  this  time,  while  they  were  talking 
together,  some  black  clouds  gathered  about  the 


158  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

giant's  middle,  and  burst  into  a  tremendous 
storm  of  thunder  and  lightning,  causing  such 
a  pother  that  Hercules  found  it  impossible  to 
distinguish  a  word.  Only  the  giant's  immeas- 
urable legs  were  to  be  seen,  standing  up  into  the 
obscurity  of  the  tempest;  and  now  and  then  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  his  whole  figure,  mantled 
in  a  volume  of  mist.  He  seemed  to  be  speaking 
most  of  the  time ;  but  his  big,  deep,  rough  voice 
chimed  in  with  the  reverberations  of  the  thun- 
der-claps, and  rolled  away  over  the  hills,  like 
them.  Thus,  by  talking  out  of  season,  the 
foolish  giant  expended  an  incalculable  quantity 
of  breath  to  no  purpose;  for  the  thunder  spoke 
quite  as  intelligibly  as  he. 

At  last,  the  storm  swept  over,  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  come.  And  there  again  was  the  clear 
sky,  and  the  weary  giant  holding  it  up,  and  the 
pleasant  sunshine  beaming  over  his  vast  height, 
and  illuminating  it  against  the  background  of 
the  sullen  thunder-clouds.  So  far  above  the 
shower  had  been  his  head,  that  not  a  hair  of  it 
was  moistened  by  the  rain-drops. 

When  the  giant  could  see  Hercules  still  stand- 
ing on  the  sea-shore,  he  roared  out  to  him  anew. 

"  I  am  Atlas,  the  mightiest  giant  in  the  world! 
And  I  hold  the  sky  upon  my  head!" 

"So  I  see,"  answered  Hercules.  "But,  can 
you  show  me  the  way  to  the  garden  of  the 
Hesperides?" 


And  what  should  Hercules  espy  there,  but  an  old  man  fast  asleep! 


1'age  //v 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  159 

"What  do  you  want  there?"  asked  the  giant. 

"I  want  three  of  the  golden  apples,"  shouted 
Hercules,  "for  my  cousin,  the  king." 

"There  is  nobody  but  myself,"  quoth  the 
giant,  "  that  can  go  to  the  garden  of  the  Hes- 
perides,  and  gather  the  golden  apples.  If  it 
were  not  for  this  little  business  of  holding  up 
the  sky,  I  would  make  a  half  dozen  steps  across 
the  sea,  and  get  them  for  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  replied  Hercules.  "  And 
cannot  you  rest  the  sky  upon  a  mountain?" 

"None  of  them  are  quite  high  enough,"  said 
Atlas,  shaking  his  head.  "  But,  if  you  were  to 
take  your  stand  on  the  summit  of  that  nearest 
one,  your  head  would  be  pretty  nearly  on  a  level 
with  mine.  You  seem  to  be  a  fellow  of  some 
strength.  What  if  you  should  take  my  burden 
on  your  shoulders,  while  I  do  your  errand  for 
you?" 

Hercules,  as  you  must  be  careful  to  remember, 
was  a  remarkably  strong  man;  and  though  it 
certainly  requires  a  great  deal  of  muscular 
power  to  uphold  the  sky,  yet,  if  any  mortal 
could  be  supposed  capable  of  such  an  exploit 
he  was  the  one.  Nevertheless,  it  seemed  so 
difficult  an  undertaking,  that,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  he  hesitated. 

"Is  the  sky  very  heavy?"  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  not  particularly  so,  at  first, ' '  answered 
the  giant,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "But  it 
11 


160  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

gets  to  be  a  little  burdensome,  after  a  thousand 
years!" 

"And  how  long  a  time,"  asked  the  hero, 
"will  it  take  you  to  get  the  golden  apples?" 

"Oh,  that  will  be  done  in  a  few  minutes," 
cried  Atlas.  "  I  shall  take  ten  or  fifteen  miles 
at  a  stride,  and  be  at  the  garden  and  back  again 
before  your  shoulders  begin  to  ache." 

"Well,  then,"  answered  Hercules,  "I  will 
climb  the  mountain  behind  you  there,  and 
relieve  you  of  your  burden." 

The  truth  is,  Hercules  had  a  kind  heart  of  his 
own,  and  considered  that  he  should  be  doing 
the  giant  a  favor,  by  allowing  him  this  oppor- 
tunity for  a  ramble.  And,  besides,  he  thought 
that  it  would  be  still  more  for  his  own  glory,  if 
he  could  boast  of  upholding  the  sky  than  merely 
to  do  so  ordinary  a  thing  as  to  conquer  a  dragon 
with  a  hundred  heads.  Accordingly,  without 
more  words,  the  sky  was  shifted  from  the  shoul- 
ders of  Atlas,  and  placed  upon  those  of  Hercules 

When  this  was  safely  accomplished,  the  first 
thing  that  the  giant  did  was  to  stretch  himself; 
and  you  may  imagine  what  a  prodigious  spec- 
tacle he  was  then.  Next,  he  slowly  lifted  one 
of  his  feet  out  of  the  forest  that  had  grown  up 
around  it;  then,  the  other.  Then  all  at  once, 
he  began  to  caper,  and  leap,  and  dance,  for  joy 
at  his  freedom;  flinging  himself  nobody  knows 
how  high  into  the  air,  and  floundering  down 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  161 

again  with  a  shock  that  made  the  earth  tremble. 
Then  he  laughed — Ho!  ho!  ho! — with  a  thun- 
derous roar  that  was  echoed  from  the  mountains, 
far  and  near,  as  if  they  and  the  giant  had  been 
so  many  rejoicing  brothers.  When  his  joy  had 
a  little  subsided,  he  stepped  into  the  sea;  ten 
miles  at  the  first  stride,  which  brought  him 
midleg  deep;  and  ten  miles  at  the  second,  when 
the  water  came  just  above  his  knees;  and  ten 
miles  more  at  the  third,  by  which  he  was  im- 
mersed nearly  to  his  waist.  This  was  the  great- 
est depth  of  the  sea. 

Hercules  watched  the  giant  as  he  still  went 
onward;  for  it  was  really  a  wonderful  sight, 
this  immense  human  form,  more  than  thirty 
miles  off,  half  hidden  in  the  ocean,  but  with  his 
upper  half  as  tall,  and  misty,  and  blue,  as  a 
distant  mountain.  At  last  the  gigantic  shape 
faded  entirely  out  of  view.  And  now  Hercules 
began  to  consider  what  he  should  do,  in  case 
Atlas  should  be  drowned  in  the  sea,  or  if  he 
were  to  be  stung  to  death  by  the  dragon  with 
the  hundred  heads,  which  guarded  the  golden 
apples  of  the  Hesperides.  If  any  such  mis- 
fortune were  to  happen,  how  could  he  ever  get 
rid  of  the  sky?  And,  by  and  by,  its  weight 
began  already  to  be  a  little  irksome  to  his  head 
and  shoulders. 

"I  really  pity  the  poor  giant,"  thought  Her- 
cules.    "If    it    wearies    me    so    much    in    ten 


i62  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

minutes,  how  must  it  have  wearied  him  in  a 
thousand  years!" 

0  my  sweet  little  people,  you  have  no  idea 
what  a  weight  there  was  in  that  same  blue  sky, 
which  looks  so  soft  and  aerial  above  our  heads! 
And  there,  too,  was  the  bluster  of  the  wind, 
and  the  chill  and  watery  clouds,  and  the  blazing 
sun,  all  taking  their  turns  to  make  Hercules 
uncomfortable!  He  began  to  be  afraid  that 
the  giant  would  never  come  back.  He  gazed 
wistfully  at  the  world  beneath  him,  and  acknowl- 
edged to  himself  that  it  was  a  far  happier  kind 
of  life  to  be  a  shepherd  at  the  foot  of  a  moun- 
tain, than  to  stand  on  its  dizzy  summit,  and 
bear  up  the  firmament  with  his  might  and  main. 
For,  of  course,  as  you  will  easily  understand, 
Hercules  had  an  immense  responsibility  on 
his  mind,  as  well  as  a  weight  on  his  head  and 
shoulders.  Why,  if  he  did  not  stand  perfectly 
still,  and  keep  the  sky  immovable,  the  sun  would 
perhaps  be  put  ajar!  Or,  after  nightfall,  a 
great  many  of  the  stars  might  be  loosened  from 
their  places,  and  shower  down  like  fiery  rain, 
upon  the  people's  heads!  And  how  ashamed 
would  the  hero  be,  if,  owing  to  his  unsteadiness 
beneath  its  weight,  the  sky  should  crack,  and 
show  a  great  fissure  quite  across  it! 

1  know  not  how  long  it  was  before,  to  his 
unspeakable  joy,  he  beheld  the  huge  shape  of 
the  giant,  like  a  cloud,  on  the  far-off  edge  of 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  163 

the  sea.  At  his  nearer  approach,  Atlas  held 
up  his  hand,  in  which  Hercules  could  perceive 
three  magnificent  golden  apples,  as  big  as  pump- 
kins, all  hanging  from  one  branch. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  shouted  Her- 
cules, when  the  giant  was  within  hearing.  "  So 
you  have  got  the  golden  apples?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  answered  Atlas; 
"and  very  fair  apples  they  are.  I  took  the 
finest  that  grew  on  the  tree,  I  assure  you.  Ah! 
it  is  a  beautiful  spot,  that  garden  of  the  Hes- 
perides.  Yes;  and  the  dragon  with  a  hundred 
heads  is  a  sight  worth  any  man's  seeing.  After 
all,  you  had  better  have  gone  for  the  apples 
yourself." 

"No  matter,"  replied  Hercules.  "You  have 
had  a  pleasant  ramble,  and  have  done  the 
business  as  well  as  I  could.  I  heartily  thank 
you  for  your  trouble.  And  now,  as  I  have  a 
long  way  to  go,  and  am  rather  in  haste — and 
as  the  king,  my  cousin,  is  anxious  to  receive  the 
golden  apples, — will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
take  the  sky  off  my  shoulders  again?" 

"Why,  as  to  that,"  said  the  giant,  chucking 
the  golden  apples  into  the  air  twenty  miles  high, 
or  thereabouts,  and  catching  them  as  they  came 
down, — "as  to  that,  my  good  friend,  I  consider 
you  a  little  unreasonable.  Cannot  I  carry  the 
golden  apples  to  the  king,  your  cousin,  much 
quicker  than  you  could?    As  his  majesty  is  in 


164  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

such  a  hurry  to  get  them,  I  promise  you  to  take 
my  longest  strides.  And,  besides,  I  have  no 
fancy  for  burdening  myself  with  the  sky,  just 
now." 

Here  Hercules  grew  impatient,  and  gave  a 
great  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  It  being  now 
twilight,  you  might  have  seen  two  or  three  stars 
tumble  out  of  their  places.  Everybody  on 
earth  looked  upward  in  affright,  thinking  that 
the  sky  might  be  going  to  fall  next. 

"Oh,  that  will  never  do!"  cried  Giant  Atlas, 
with  a  great  roar  of  laughter.  "  I  have  not 
let  fall  so  many  stars  within  the  last  five  cen- 
turies. By  the  time  you  have  stood  there  as 
long  as  I  did,  you  will  begin  to  learn  patience!" 

"What!"  shouted  Hercules,  very  wrathfully, 
"do  you  intend  to  make  me  bear  this  burden 
forever?" 

"We  will  see  about  that,  one  of  these  days," 
answered  the  giant.  "At  all  events,  you  ought 
not  to  complain,  if  you  have  to  bear  it  the  next 
hundred  years,  or  perhaps  the  next  thousand 
I  bore  it  a  good  while  longer,  in  spite  of  the 
back-ache.  Well,  then,  after  a  thousand  years, 
if  I  happen  to  feel  in  the  mood,  we  may  possibly 
shift  about  again.  You  are  certainly  a  very 
strong  man,  and  can  never  have  a  better  oppor- 
tunity to  prove  it.  Posterity  will  talk  of  you, 
I  warrant  it!" 

"Pish!  a  fig  for  its  talk!"   cried  Hercules, 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.     165 

with  another  hitch  of  his  shoulders.  "Just 
take  the  sky  upon  your  head  one  instant,  will 
you?  I  want  to  make  a  cushion  of  my  lion's 
skin,  for  the  weight  to  rest  upon.  It  really 
chafes  me,  and  will  cause  unnecessary  incon- 
venience in  so  many  centuries  as  I  am  to  stand 
here." 

"That's  no  more  than  fair,  and  I'll  do  it!" 
quoth  the  giant;  for  he  had  no  unkind  feeling 
towards  Hercules,  and  was  merely  acting  with 
a  too  selfish  consideration  of  his  own  ease. 
"  For  just  five  minutes,  then,  I'll  take  back  the 
sky.  Only  for  five  minutes,  recollect!  I  have 
no  idea  of  spending  another  thousand  years  as 
I  spent  the  last.  Variety  is  the  spice  of  life, 
say  I." 

Ah,  the  thick-witted  old  rogue  of  a  giant! 
He  threw  down  the  golden  apples,  and  received 
back  the  sky,  from  the  head  and  shoulders  of 
Hercules,  upon  his  own,  where  it  rightly  be- 
longed. And  Hercules  picked  up  the  three 
golden  apples,  that  were  as  big  or  bigger  than 
pumpkins,  and  straightway  set  out  on  his  jour- 
ney homeward,  without  paying  the  slightest 
heed  to  the  thundering  tones  of  the  giant,  who 
bellowed  after  him  to  come  back.  Another 
forest  sprang  up  around  his  feet,  and  grew 
ancient  there;  and  again  might  be  seen  oak- 
trees,  of  six  or  seven  centuries  old,  that  had 
waxed  thus  aged  betwixt  his  enormous  toes. 


i66 


A  WONDER-BOOK. 


And  there  stands  the  giant  to  this  day;  or, 
at  any  rate,  there  stands  a  mountain  as  tall  as 
he,  and  which  bears  his  name;  and  when  the 
thunder  rumbles  about  its  summit,  we  may 
imagine  it  to  be  the  voice  of  Giant  Atlas,  bel- 
lowing after  Hercules! 


TANGLEWOOD  FIRESIDE. 

AFTER   THE    STORY. 

"Cousin  Eustace,"  demanded  Sweet  Fern, 
who  had  been  sitting  at  the  story-teller's  feet 
with  his  mouth  wide  open,  "exactly  how  tall 
was  this  giant?" 

"O  Sweet  Fern,  Sweet  Fern!"  cried  the 
student,  "  do  you  think  I  was  there,  to  measure 
him  with  a  yard-stick?  Well,  if  you  must 
know  to  a  hair's-breadth,  I  suppose  he  might 
be  from  three  to  fifteen  miles  straight  upward 
and  that  he  might  have  seated  himself  on 
Taconic,  and  had  Monument  Mountain  for  a 
footstool." 

"Dear  me!"  ejaculated  the  good  little  boy, 
with  a  contented  sort  of  a  grunt,  "that  was  a 
giant  sure  enough!  And  how  long  was  his 
little  finger?" 

"As  long  as  from  Tanglewood  to  the  lake," 
said  Eustace. 

"Sure  enough,  that  was  a  giant!"  repeated 
Sweet  Fern,  in  an  ecstacy  at  the  precision  of 
these  measurements.  "And  how  broad,  I  won- 
der, were  the  shoulders  of  Hercules?" 

167 


168  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"That  is  what  I  have  never  been  able  to  find 
out,"  answered  the  student.  "But  I  think 
they  must  have  been  a  great  deal  broader  than 
mine,  or  than  your  father's,  or  than  almost  any 
shoulders  which  one  sees  nowadays." 

"I  wish,"  whispered  Sweet  Fern,  with  his 
mouth  close  to  the  student's  ear,  "that  you 
would  tell  me  how  big  were  some  of  the  oak- 
trees  that  grew  between  the  giant's  toes." 

"They  were  bigger,"  said  Eustace,  "than 
the  great  chestnut-tree  which  stands  beyond 
Captain  Smith's  house." 

"Eustace,"  remarked  Mr.  Pringle,  after  some 
deliberation,  "  I  find  it  impossible  to  express 
such  an  opinion  of  this  story  as  will  be  likely 
to  gratify,  in  the  smallest  degree,  your  pride 
of  authorship.  Pray  let  me  advise  you  never 
more  to  meddle  with  a  classical  myth.  Your 
imagination  is  altogether  Gothic,  and  will  inevit- 
ably Gothicize  everything  that  you  touch.  The 
effect  is  like  bedaubing  a  marble  statue  with 
paint.  This  giant,  now!  How  can  you  have 
ventured  to  thrust  his  huge,  disproportioned 
mass  among  the  seemly  outlines  of  Grecian 
fable,  the  tendency  of  which  is  to  reduce  even 
the  extravagant  within  limits,  by  its  pervading 
elegance?" 

"  I  described  the  giant  as  he  appeared  to  me," 
replied  the  student,  rather  piqued.  "And,  sir, 
if  you  would  only  bring  your  mind  into  such 


THE  THREE  GOLDEN  APPLES.  169 

a  relation  with  these  fables  as  is  necessary  in 
order  to  remodel  them,  you  would  see  at  once 
that  an  old  Greek  had  no  more  exclusive  right 
to  them  than  a  modem  Yankee  has.  They  are 
the  common  property  of  the  world,  and  of  all 
time.  The  ancient  poets  remodelled  them  at 
pleasure,  and  held  them  plastic  in  their  hands; 
and  why  should  they  not  be  plastic  in  my  hands 
as  well?" 

Mr.  Pringle  could  not  forbear  a  smile. 

"And  besides,"  continued  Eustace,  "the 
moment  you  put  any  warmth  of  heart,  any 
passion  or  affection,  any  human  or  divine 
morality,  into  a  classic  mould,  you  make  it 
quite  another  thing  from  what  it  was  before. 
My  own  opinion  is,  that  the  Greeks,  by  taking 
possession  of  these  legends  (which  were  the 
immemorial  birthright  of  mankind),  and  put- 
ting them  into  shapes  of  indestructible  beauty, 
indeed,  but  cold  and  heartless,  have  done  all 
subsequent  ages  an  incalculable  injury." 

"  Which  you,  doubtless,  were  born  to 
remedy,"  said  Mr.  Pringle,  laughing  outright. 
"Well,  well,  go  on;  but  take  my  advice,  and 
never  put  any  of  your  travesties  on  paper. 
And,  as  your  next  effort,  what  if  you  should 
try  your  hand  on  some  one  of  the  legends  of 
Apollo?" 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  propose  it  as  an  impossibility," 
observed  the  student,  after  a  moment's  medi- 


170  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

tation;  "and,  to  be  sure,  at  first  thought,  the 
idea  of  a  Gothic  Apollo  strikes  one  rather  ludi- 
crously. But  I  will  turn  over  your  suggestion 
in  my  mind,  and  do  not  quite  despair  of  success." 
During  the  above  discussion  the  children 
(who  understood  not  a  word  of  it)  had  grown 
very  sleepy,  and  were  now  sent  off  to  bed. 
Their  drowsy  babble  was  heard,  ascending  the 
staircase,  while  a  northwest  wind  roared  loudly 
among  the  tree-tops  of  Tanglewood,  and  played 
an  anthem  around  the  house.  Eustace  Bright 
went  back  to  the  study,  and  again  endeavored 
to  hammer  out  some  verses,  but  fell  asleep 
between  two  of  the  rhymes. 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER. 


THE  HILL-SIDE. 

INTRODUCTORY  TO  "  THE  MIRACULOUS 
PITCHER." 

And  when,  and  where,  do  you  think  we  find 
the  children  next?  No  longer  in  the  winter- 
time, but  in  the  merry  month  of  May.  No 
longer  in  Tanglewood  play-room,  or  at  Tangle- 
wood  fireside,  but  more  than  half-way  up  a  mon- 
strous hill,  or  a  mountain,  as  perhaps  it  would 
be  better  pleased  to  have  us  call  it.  They  had 
set  out  from  home  with  the  mighty  purpose  of 
climbing  this  high  hill,  even  to  the  very  tiptop 
of  its  bald  head.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not  quite 
so  high  as  Chimborazo,  or  Mont  Blanc,  and  was 
even  a  good  deal  lower  than  old  Graylock.  But 
at  any  rate,  it  was  higher  than  a  thousand  ant- 
hillocks,  or  a  million  of  mole-hills;  and,  when 
measured  by  the  short  strides  of  little  children, 
might  be  reckoned  a  very  respectable  mountain. 

And  was  Cousin  Eustace  with  the  party?  Of 
that  you  may  be  certain;  else  how  could  the 
book  go  on  a  step  further?  He  was  now  in 
the  middle  of  the  spring  vacation,  and  looked 
pretty  much  as  we  saw  him  four  or  five  months 

173 


i74  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

ago,  except  that,  if  you  gazed  quite  closely  at 
his  upper  lip,  you  could  discern  the  funniest 
little  bit  of  a  mustache  upon  it.  Setting  aside 
this  mark  of  mature  manhood,  you  might  have 
considered  Cousin  Eustace  just  as  much  a  boy 
as  when  you  first  became  acquainted  with  him. 
He  was  as  merry,  as  playful,  as  good-humored, 
as  light  of  foot  and  of  spirits,  and  equally  a 
favorite  with  the  little  folks,  as  he  had  always 
been.  This  expedition  up  the  mountain  was 
entirely  of  his  contrivance.  All  the  way  up  the 
steep  ascent,  he  had  encouraged  the  elder  chil- 
dren with  his  cheerful  voice;  and  when  Dande- 
lion, Cowslip,  and  Squash- Blossom  grew  weary, 
he  had  lugged  them  along  alternately,  on  his 
back.  In  this  manner,  they  had  passed  through 
orchards  and  pastures  on  the  lower  part  of  the 
hill,  and  had  reached  the  wood,  which  extends 
thence  towards  its  bare  summit. 

The  month  of  May,  thus  far,  had  been  more 
amiable  than  it  often  is,  and  this  was  as  sweet 
and  genial  a  day  as  the  heart  of  man  or  child 
could  wish.  In  their  progress  up  the  hill,  the 
small  people  had  found  enough  of  violets,  blue 
and  white,  and  some  that  were  as  golden  as  if 
they  had  the  touch  of  Midas  on  them.  That 
sociablest  of  flowers,  the  little  Houstonia,  was 
very  abundant.  It  is  a  flower  that  never  lives 
alone,  but  which  loves  its  own  kind,  and  is 
always  fond   of   dwelling  with  a  great  many 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.     175 

friends  and  relatives  around  it.  Sometimes 
you  see  a  family  of  them  covering  a  space  no 
bigger  than  the  palm  of  your  hand;  and  some- 
times a  large  community,  whitening  a  whole 
tract  of  pasture,  and  all  keeping  one  another  in 
cheerful  heart  and  life. 

Within  the  verge  of  the  wood  there  were 
columbines,  looking  more  pale  than  red,  because 
they  were  so  modest,  and  had  thought  proper 
to  seclude  themselves  too  anxiously  from  the 
sun.  There  were  wild  geraniums,  too,  and  a 
thousand  white  blossoms  of  the  strawberry. 
The  trailing  arbutus  was  not  yet  quite  out  of 
bloom;  but  it  hid  its  precious  flowers  under  the 
last  year's  withered  forest  leaves,  as  carefully 
as  a  mother-bird  hides  its  little  young  ones. 
It  knew,  I  suppose,  how  beautiful  and  sweet- 
scented  they  were.  So  cunning  was  their  con- 
cealment, that  the  children  sometimes  smelt 
the  delicate  richness  of  their  perfume  before 
they  knew  whence  it  proceeded. 

Amid  so  much  new  life,  it  was  strange  and 
truly  pitiful  to  behold,  here  and  there,  in  the 
fields  of  pastures,  the  hoary  periwigs  of  dande- 
lions that  had  already  gone  to  seed.  They  had 
done  with  summer  before  the  summer  came. 
Within  those  small  globes  of  winged  seed  it  was 
autumn  now! 

Well,  we  must  not  waste  our  valuable  pages 
with  any  more  talk  about  the  spring-time  and 
12 


176  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

wild  flowers.  There  is  something,  we  hope, 
more  interesting  to  be  talked  about.  If  you 
look  at  the  group  of  children,  you  may  see 
them  all  gathered  round  Eustace  Bright,  who, 
sitting  on  the  stump  of  a  tree,  seems  to  be  just 
beginning  a  story.  The  fact  is,  the  younger 
part  of  the  troop  have  found  out  that  it  takes 
rather  too  many  of  their  short  strides  to  measure 
the  long  ascent  of  the  hill.  Cousin  Eustace, 
therefore,  has  decided  to  leave  Sweet  Fern, 
Cowslip,  Squash-Blossom,  and  Dandelion,  at 
this  point,  midway  up,  until  the  return  of  the 
rest  of  the  party  from  the  summit.  And  because 
they  complain  a  little,  and  do  not  quite  like 
to  stay  behind,  he  gives  them  some  apples  out 
of  his  pocket,  and  proposes  to  tell  them  a  very 
pretty  story.  Hereupon  they  brighten  up,  and 
change  their  grieved  looks  into  the  broadest 
kind  of  smiles. 

As  for  the  story,  I  was  there  to  hear  it,  hidden 
behind  a  bush,  and  shall  tell  it  over  to  vou  in 
the  pages  that  come  next. 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER. 

One  evening,  in  times  long  ago,  old  Philemon 
and  his  old  wife  Baucis  sat  at  their  cottage-door, 
enjoying  the  calm  and  beautiful  sunset-  They 
had  already  eaten  their  frugal  supper,  and 
intended  now  to  spend  a  quiet  hour  or  two 
before  bedtime.  So  they  talked  together  about 
their  garden,  and  their  cow,  and  their  bees,  and 
their  grapevine,  which  clambered  over  the 
cottage-wall,  and  on  which  the  grapes  were 
beginning  to  turn  purple.  But  the  rude  shouts 
of  children,  and  the  fierce  barking  of  dogs,  in 
the  village  near  at  hand,  grew  louder  and  louder, 
until,  at  last,  it  was  hardly  possible  for  Baucis 
and  Philemon  to  hear  each  other  speak. 

"Ah,  wife,"  cried  Philemon,  "I  fear  some 
poor  traveller  is  seeking  hospitality  among  our 
neighbors  yonder,  and,  instead  of  giving  him 
food  and  lodging,  they  have  set  their  dogs  at 
him,  as  their  custom  is!" 

" Well-a-day!"  answered  old  Baucis,  "I  do 
wish  our  neighbors  felt  a  little  more  kindness 
for  their  fellow-creatures.  And  only  think  of 
bringing  up  their  children  in  this  naughty  way, 

177 


178  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

and  patting  them  on  the  head  when  they  fling 
stones  at  strangers!" 

"Those  children  will  never  come  to  any 
good,"  said  Philemon,  shaking  his  white  head. 
"To  tell  you  the  truth,  wife,  I  should  not 
wonder  if  some  terrible  thing  were  to  happen 
to  all  the  people  in  the  village,  unless  they  mend 
their  manners.  But,  as  for  you  and  me,  so 
long  as  Providence  affords  us  a  crust  of  bread, 
let  us  be  ready  to  give  half  to  any  poor,  home- 
less stranger,  that  may  come  along  and  need 
it." 

"That's  right,  husband!"  said  Baucis.  "So 
we  will!" 

These  old  folks,  you  must  know,  were  quite 
poor,  and  had  to  work  pretty  hard  for  a  living. 
Old  Philemon  toiled  diligently  in  his  garden, 
while  Baucis  was  always  busy  with  her  distaff, 
or  making  a  little  butter  and  cheese  with 
their  cow's  milk,  or  doing  one  thing  and  another 
about  the  cottage.  Their  food  was  seldom 
anything  but  bread,  milk,  and  vegetables, 
with  sometimes  a  portion  of  honey  from 
their  beehive,  and  now  and  then  a  bunch  of 
grapes,  that  had  ripened  against  the  cottage 
wall.  But  they  were  two  of  the  kindest  old 
people  in  the  world,  and  would  cheerfully  have 
gone  without  their  dinners,  any  day,  rather 
than  refuse  a  slice  of  their  brown  loaf,  a  cup 
of  new  milk,  and  a  spoonful  of  honey,  to  the 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       179 

weary  traveller  who  might  pause  before  their 
door.  They  felt  as  if  such  guests  had  a  sort  of 
holiness,  and  that  they  ought,  therefore,  to 
treat  them  better  and  more  bountifully  than 
their  own  selves. 

Their  cottage  stood  on  a  rising  ground,  at 
some  short  distance  from  the  village,  which 
lay  in  a  hollow  valley,  that  was  about  half  a 
mile  in  breadth.  This  valley,  in  past  ages, 
when  the  world  was  new,  had  probably  been 
the  bed  of  a  lake.  There,  fishes  had  glided  to 
and  fro  in  the  depths,  and  water- weeds  had 
grown  along  the  margin,  and  trees  and  hills 
had  seen  their  reflected  images  in  the  broad  and 
peaceful  mirror.  But,  as  the  waters  subsided, 
men  had  cultivated  the  soil,  and  built  houses 
on  it,  so  that  it  was  now  a  fertile  spot,  and  bore 
no  traces  of  the  ancient  lake,  except  a  very 
small  brook,  which  meandered  through  the 
midst  of  the  village,  and  supplied  the  inhabi- 
tants with  water.  The  valley  had  been  dry 
land  so  long,  that  oaks  had  sprung  up,  and 
grown  great  and  high,  and  perished  with  old 
age,  and  been  succeeded  by  others,  as  tall  and 
stately  as  the  first.  Never  was  there  a  prettier 
or  more  fruitful  valley.  The  very  sight  of  the 
plenty  around  them  should  have  made  the 
inhabitants  kind  and  gentle,  and  ready  to  show 
their  gratitude  to  Providence  by  doing  good  to 
their  fellow-creatures. 


180  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

But,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  the  people  of  this 
lovely  village  were  not  worthy  to  dwell  in  a 
spot  on  which  Heaven  had  smiled  so  benefi- 
cently. They  were  a  very  selfish  and  hard- 
hearted people,  and  had  no  pity  for  the  poor, 
nor  sympathy  with  the  homeless.  They  would 
only  have  laughed,  had  anybody  told  them  that 
human  beings  owe  a  debt  of  love  to  one  another, 
because  there  is  no  other  method  of  paying  the 
debt  of  love  and  care  which  all  of  us  owe  to 
Providence.  You  will  hardly  believe  what  I 
am  going  to  tell  you.  These  naughty  people 
taught  their  children  to  be  no  better  than  them- 
selves, and  used  to  clap  their  hands,  by  way  of 
encouragement,  when  they  saw  the  little  boys 
and  girls  run  after  some  poor  stranger,  shouting 
at  his  heels,  and  pelting  him  with  stones.  They 
kept  large  and  fierce  dogs,  and  whenever  a 
traveller  ventured  to  show  himself  in  the  village 
street,  this  pack  of  disagreeable  curs  scampered 
to  meet  him,  barking,  snarling,  and  showing 
their  teeth.  Then  they  would  seize  him  by  his 
leg  or  by  his  clothes,  just  as  it  happened;  and 
if  he  were  ragged  when  he  came,  he  was  gener- 
ally a  pitiable  object  before  he  had  time  to 
run  away.  This  was  a  very  terrible  thing  to 
poor  travellers,  as  you  may  suppose,  especially 
when  they  chanced  to  be  sick,  or  feeble,  or  lame, 
or  old.  Such  persons  (if  they  once  knew  how 
badly  these  unkind  people,  and  their  unkind 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       181 

children  and  curs  were  in  the  habit  of  behaving) 
would  go  miles  and  miles  out  of  their  way, 
rather  than  try  to  pass  through  the  village  again. 

What  made  the  matter  seem  worse  if  possible, 
was  that  when  rich  persons  came  in  their 
chariots,  or  riding  on  beautiful  horses,  with 
their  servants  in  rich  liveries  attending  on 
them,  nobody  could  be  more  civil  and  obsequious 
than  the  inhabitants  of  the  village.  They  would 
take  off  their  hats,  and  make  the  humblest 
bows  you  ever  saw.  If  the  children  were  rude, 
they  were  pretty  certain  to  get  their  ears  boxed : 
and  as  for  the  dogs,  if  a  single  cur  in  the  pack 
presumed  to  yelp,  his  master  instantly  beat 
him  with  a  club,  and  tied  him  up  without  any 
supper.  This  would  have  been  all  very  well, 
only  it  proved  that  the  villagers  cared  much 
about  the  money  that  a  stranger  had  in  his 
pocket,  and  nothing  whatever  for  the  human 
soul,  which  lives  equally  in  the  beggar  and  the 
prince. 

So  now  you  can  understand  why  old  Philemon 
spoke  so  sorrowfully,  when  he  heard  the  shouts 
of  the  children,  and  the  barking  of  the  dogs,  at 
the  farthest  extremity  of  the  village  street. 
There  was  a  confused  din,  which  lasted  a  good 
while,  and  seemed  to  pass  quite  through  the 
breadth  of  the  valley. 

"I  never  heard  the  dogs  so  loud!"  observed 
the  good  old  man. 


1 82  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Nor  the  children  so  rude!"  answered  his 
good  old  wife. 

They  sat  shaking  their  heads,  one  to  another, 
while  the  noise  came  nearer  and  nearer;  until 
at  the  foot  of  the  little  eminence  on  which  their 
cottage  stood,  they  saw  two  travellers  approach- 
ing on  foot.  Close  behind  them  came  the  fierce 
dogs,  snarling  at  their  very  heels.  A  little 
farther  off,  ran  a  crowd  of  children,  who  sent 
up  shrill  cries,  and  flung  stones  at  the  two 
strangers  with  all  their  might.  Once  or  twice, 
the  younger  of  the  two  men  (he  was  a  slender 
and  very  active  figure)  turned  about  and  drove 
back  the  dogs  with  a  staff  which  he  carried  in 
his  hand.  His  companion,  who  was  a  very 
tall  person,  walked  calmly  along,  as  if  disdaining 
to  notice  either  the  naughty  children,  or  the 
pack  of  curs,  whose  manners  the  children  seemed 
to  imitate. 

Both  of  the  travellers  were  very  humbly  clad, 
and  looked  as  if  they  might  not  have  money 
enough  in  their  pockets  to  pay  for  a  night's 
lodging.  And  this,  I  am  afraid,  was  the  reason 
why  the  villagers  had  allowed  their  children  and 
dogs  to  treat  them  so  rudely. 

"Come,  wife,"  said  Philemon  to  Baucis,  "let 
us  go  and  meet  these  poor  people.  No  doubt, 
they  feel  almost  too  heavy-hearted  to  climb  the 
hill." 

"Go  you  and  meet  them,"  answered  Baucis, 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       183 

"while  I  make  haste  within  doors,  and  see 
whether  we  can  get  them  anything  for  supper. 
A  comfortable  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  would 
do  wonders  towards  raising  their  spirits." 

Accordingly,  she  hastened  into  the  cottage. 
Philemon,  on  his  part,  went  forward,  and  ex- 
tended his  hand  with  so  hospitable  an  aspect  that 
there  was  no  need  of  saying  what  nevertheless 
he  did  say,  in  the  heartiest  tone  imaginable, — 

"  Welcome,  strangers!  welcome ! " 

"Thank  you!"  replied  the  younger  of  the 
two,  in  a  lively  kind  of  way,  notwithstanding 
his  weariness  and  trouble.  "This  is  quite 
another  greeting  than  we  have  met  with  yonder 
in  the  village.  Pray,  why  do  you  live  in  such 
a  bad  neighborhood?" 

"Ah!"  observed  old  Philemon,  with  a  quiet 
and  benign  smile,  "Providence  put  me  here,  I 
hope,  among  other  reasons,  in  order  that  I  may 
make  you  what  amends  I  can  for  the  inhospi- 
tality  of  my  neighbors." 

"Well  said,  old  father!"  cried  the  traveller, 
laughing;  "and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  my 
companion  and  myself  need  some  amends. 
Those  children  (the  little  rascals!)  have  bespat- 
tered us  finely  with  their  mud-ball;  and  one 
of  the  curs  has  torn  my  cloak,  which  was  ragged 
enough  already.  But  I  took  him  across  the 
muzzle  with  my  staff ;  and  I  think  you  may  have 
heard  him  yelp,  even  thus  far  off." 


184  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Philemon  was  glad  to  see  him  in  such  good 
spirits;  nor,  indeed,  would  you  have  fancied, 
by  the  traveller's  look  and  manner,  that  he  was 
weary  with  a  long  day's  journey,  besides  being 
disheartened  by  rough  treatment  at  the  end  of 
it.  He  was  dressed  in  rather  an  odd  way,  with 
a  sort  of  cap  on  his  head,  the  brim  of  which 
stuck  out  over  both  ears.  Though  it  was  a 
summer  evening,  he  wore  a  cloak,  which  he 
kept  wrapt  closely  about  him,  perhaps  because 
his  under  garments  were  shabby.  Philemon 
perceived,  too,  that  he  had  on  a  singular  pair 
of  shoes;  but,  as  it  was  now  growing  dusk,  and 
as  the  old  man's  eyesight  was  none  the  sharpest, 
he  could  not  precisely  tell  in  what  the  strange- 
ness consisted.  One  thing  certainly  seemed 
queer.  The  traveller  was  so  wonderfully  light 
and  active,  that  it  appeared  as  if  his  feet  some- 
times rose  from  the  ground  of  their  own  accord, 
or  could  only  be  kept  down  by  an  effort. 

"I  used  to  be  light-footed  in  my  youth," 
said  Philemon  to  the  traveller.  "  But  I  always 
found  my  feet  grow  heavier  towards  nightfall." 

"There  is  nothing  like  a  good  staff  to  help 
one  along,"  answered  the  stranger;  "and  I 
happen  to  have  an  excellent  one,  as  you  see." 

This  staff,  in  fact,  was  the  oddest-looking 
staff  that  Philemon  had  ever  beheld.  It  was 
made  of  olive-wood,  and  had  something  like  a 
little  pair  of  wings  near  the  top.     Two  snakes, 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       185 

carved  in  the  wood,  were  represented  as  twining 
themselves  about  the  staff,  and  were  so  very 
skilfully  executed  that  old  Philemon  (whose 
eyes,  you  know,  were  getting  rather  dim)  almost 
thought  them  alive,  and  that  he  could  see  them 
wriggling  and  twisting. 

"A  curious  piece  of  work,  sure  enough!" 
said  he.  "A  staff  with  wings!  It  would  be 
an  excellent  kind  of  stick  for  a  little  boy  to  ride 
astride  of!" 

By  this  time,  Philemon  and  his  two  guests, 
had  reached  the  cottage  door. 

"Friends,"  said  the  old  man,  "sit  down  and 
rest  yourselves  here  on  this  bench.  My  good 
wife  Baucis  has  gone  to  see  what  you  can  have 
for  supper.  We  are  poor  folks;  but  you  shall 
be  welcome  to  whatever  we  have  in  the  cup- 
board." 

The  younger  stranger  threw  himself  carelessly 
on  the  bench,  letting  his  staff  fall,  as  he  did  so. 
And  here  happened  something  rather  marvel- 
lous, though  trifling  enough,  too.  The  staff 
seemed  to  get  up  from  the  ground  of  its  own 
accord,  and,  spreading  its  little  pair  of  wings, 
it  half  hopped,  half  flew,  and  leaned  itself  against 
the  wall  of  the  cottage.  There  it  stood  quite 
still,  except  that  the  snakes  continued  to 
wriggle.  But  in  my  private  opinion,  old  Phile- 
mon's eyesight  had  been  playing  him  tricks 
again. 


1 86  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Before  he  could  ask  any  questions,  the  elder 
stranger  drew  his  attention  from  the  wonderful 
staff,  by  speaking  to  him. 

"Was  there  not,"  asked  the  stranger,  in  a 
remarkably  deep  tone  of  voice,  "  a  lake,  in  very 
ancient  times,  covering  the  spot  where  now 
stands  yonder  village?" 

"  Not  in  my  day,  friend,"  answered  Philemon; 
"  and  yet  I  am  an  old  man,  as  you  see.  There 
were  always  the  fields  and  meadows,  just  as  they 
are  now,  and  the  old  trees,  and  the  little  stream 
murmuring  through  the  midst  of  the  valley. 
My  father,  nor  his  father  before  him,  ever  saw 
it  otherwise,  so  far  as  I  know;  and  doubtless  it 
will  still  be  the  same,  when  old  Philemon  shall 
be  gone  and  forgotten!" 

"That  is  more  than  can  safely  be  foretold," 
observed  the  stranger;  and  there  was  some- 
thing very  stern  in  his  deep  voice.  He  shook 
his  head,  too,  so  that  his  dark  and  heavy  curls 
were  shaken  with  the  movement.  "Since  the 
inhabitants  of  yonder  village  have  forgotten 
the  affections  and  sympathies  of  their  nature, 
it  were  better  that  the  lake  should  be  rippling 
over  their  dwellings  again!" 

The  traveller  looked  so  stern,  that  Philemon 
was  really  almost  frightened;  the  more  so,  that, 
at  his  frown,  the  twilight  seemed  suddenly  to 
grow  darker,  and  that,  when  he  shook  his  head, 
there  was  a  roll  as  of  thunder  in  the  air. 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.      187 

But,  in  a  moment  afterwards,  the  stranger's 
face  became  so  kindly  and  mild,  that  the  old 
man  quite  forgot  his  terror.  Nevertheless,  he 
could  not  help  feeling  that  this  elder  traveller 
must  be  no  ordinary  personage,  although  he 
happened  now  to  be  attired  so  humbly  and  to 
be  journeying  on  foot.  Not  that  Philemon 
fancied  him  a  prince  in  disguise,  or  any  char- 
acter of  that  sort;  but  rather  some  exceedingly 
wise  man,  who  went  about  the  world  in  this 
poor  garb,  despising  wealth  and  all  worldly 
objects,  and  seeking  everywhere  to  add  a  mite 
to  his  wisdom.  This  idea  appeared  the  more 
probable,  because,  when  Philemon  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  stranger's  face,  he  seemed  to  see  more 
thought  there,  in  one  look,  than  he  could  have 
studied  out  in  a  lifetime. 

While  Baucis  was  getting  the  supper,  the 
travellers  both  began  to  talk  very  sociably  with 
Philemon.  The  younger,  indeed,  was  extremely 
loquacious,  and  made  such  shrewd  and  witty 
remarks,  that  the  good  old  man  continually 
burst  out  a-laughing,  and  pronounced  him  the 
merriest  fellow  whom  he  had  seen  for  many  a  day. 

"Pray,  my  young  friend,"  said  he,  as  they 
grew  familiar  together,  "what  may  I  call  your 
name?" 

"Why,  I  am  very  nimble,  as  you  see," 
answered  the  traveller.  "So,  if  you  call  me 
Quicksilver,  the  name  will  fit  tolerably  well." 


188  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Quicksilver?  Quicksilver?"  repeated  Phile- 
mon, looking  in  the  traveller's  face,  to  see  if  he 
were  making  fun  of  him.  "It  is  a  very  odd 
name!  And  your  companion  there?  Has  he 
as  strange  a  one?" 

"You  must  ask  the  thunder  to  tell  it  you!" 
replied  Quicksilver,  putting  on  a  mysterious 
look.     "  No  other  voice  is  loud  enough." 

This  remark,  whether  it  were  serious  or  in 
jest,  might  have  caused  Philemon  to  conceive 
a  very  great  awe  of  the  elder  stranger,  if,  on 
venturing  to  gaze  at  him,  he  had  not  beheld 
so  much  beneficence  in  his  visage.  But,  un- 
doubtedly, here  was  the  grandest  figure  that 
ever  sat  so  humbly  beside  a  cottage  door.  When 
the  stranger  conversed,  it  was  with  gravity, 
and  in  such  a  way  that  Philemon  felt  irresistibly 
moved  to  tell  him  everything  which  he  had  most 
at  heart.  This  is  always  the  feeling  that  people 
have,  when  they  meet  with  anyone  wise  enough 
to  comprehend  all  their  good  and  evil,  and  to 
despise  not  a  tittle  of  it. 

But  Philemon,  simple  and  kind-hearted  old 
man  that  he  was,  had  not  many  secrets  to  dis- 
close. He  talked,  however,  quite  garrulously, 
about  the  events  of  his  past  life,  in  the  whole 
course  of  which  he  had  never  been  a  score  of 
miles  from  this  very  spot.  His  wife  Baucis  and 
himself  had  dwelt  in  the  cottage  from  their 
youth  upward,  earning  their  bread  by  honest 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       189 

labor,  always  poor,  but  still  contented.  He 
told  what  excellent  butter  and  cheese  Baucis 
made,  and  how  nice  were  the  vegetables  which 
he  raised  in  his  garden.  He  said,  too,  that, 
because  they  loved  one  another  so  very  much, 
it  was  the  wish  of  both  that  death  might  not 
separate  them,  but  that  they  should  die,  as 
they  had  lived,  together. 

As  the  stranger  listened,  a  smile  beamed  over 
his  countenance,  and  made  its  expression  as 
sweet  as  it  was  grand. 

"You  are  a  good  old  man,"  said  he  to  Phile- 
mon, "  and  you  have  a  good  old  wife  to  be  your 
helpmeet.     It  is  fit  that  your  wish  be  granted." 

And  it  seemed  to  Philemon,  just  then,  as  if 
the  sunset  clouds  threw  up  a  bright  flash  from 
the  west,  and  kindled  a  sudden  light  in  the  sky. 

Baucis  had  now  got  supper  ready,  and,  coming 
to  the  door,  began  to  make  apologies  for  the 
poor  fare  which  she  was  forced  to  set  before  her 
guests. 

"  Had  we  known  you  were  coming,"  said  she, 
"my  good  man  and  myself  would  have  gone 
without  a  morsel,  rather  than  you  should  lack 
a  better  supper.  But  I  took  the  most  part  of 
to-day's  milk  to  make  cheese;  and  our  last 
loaf  is  already  half  eaten.  Ah  me!  I  never  feel 
the  sorrow  of  being  poor,  save  when  a  poor 
traveller  knocks  at  our  door." 

"All  will  be  very  well;  do  not  trouble  your- 


iqo  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

self,  my  good  dame,"  replied  the  elder  stranger, 
kindly.  "An  honest,  hearty  welcome  to  a 
guest  works  miracles  with  the  fare,  and  is  capa- 
ble of  turning  the  coarsest  food  to  nectar  and 
ambrosia." 

"A  welcome  you  shall  have,"  cried  Baucis, 
"and  likewise,  a  little  honey  that  we  happen 
to  have  left,  and  a  bunch  of  purple  grapes 
besides." 

"Why,  Mother  Baucis,  it  is  a  feast!"  ex- 
claimed Quicksilver,  laughing,  "an  absolute 
feast !  and  you  shall  see  how  bravely  I  will  play 
my  part  at  it!  I  think  I  never  felt  hungrier  in 
my  life." 

"Mercy  on  us!"  whispered  Baucis  to  her 
husband.  "  If  the  young  man  has  such  a  terri- 
ble appetite,  I  am  afraid  there  will  not  be  half 
enough  supper!" 

They  all  went  into  the  cottage. 

And  now,  my  little  auditors,  shall  I  tell  you 
something  that  will  make  you  open  your  eyes 
very  wide?  It  is  really  one  of  the  oddest  cir- 
cumstances in  the  whole  story.  Quicksilver's 
staff,  you  will  recollect,  had  set  itself  up  against 
the  wall  of  the  cottage.  Well;  when  its  master 
entered  the  door,  leaving  this  wonderful  staff 
behind,  what  should  it  do  but  immediately 
spread  its  little  wings,  and  go  hopping  and 
fluttering  up  the  door  steps!  Tap,  tap,  went 
the  staff,  on  the  kitchen  floor;  nor  did  it  rest 


.■1//  abundant  cascade  fell  bubbling,  into  the  bote! 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       191 

until  it  had  stood  itself  on  end,  with  the  greatest 
gravity  and  decorum,  beside  Quicksilver's  chair. 
Old  Philemon,  however,  as  well  as  his  wife, 
were  so  taken  up  in  attending  to  their  guests, 
that  no  notice  was  given  to  what  the  staff  had 
been  about. 

As  Baucis  had  said,  there  was  but  a  scanty 
supper  for  two  hungry  travellers.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  table  was  the  remnant  of  a  brown 
loaf,  with  a  piece  of  cheese  on  one  side  of  it, 
and  a  dish  of  honeycomb  on  the  other.  There 
was  a  pretty  good  bunch  of  grapes  for  each  of 
the  guests.  A  moderately  sized  earthen  pitcher, 
nearly  full  of  milk,  stood  at  a  corner  of  the 
board;  and  when  Baucis  had  filled  two  bowls, 
and  set  them  before  the  strangers,  only  a  little 
milk  remained  in  the  bottom  of  the  pitcher. 
Alas!  it  is  a  very  sad  business,  when  a  bountiful 
heart  finds  itself  pinched  and  squeezed  among 
narrow  circumstances.  Poor  Baucis  kept  wish- 
ing that  she  might  starve  for  a  week  to  come, 
if  it  were  possible,  by  so  doing,  to  provide  these 
hungry  folks  a  more  plentiful  supper. 

And,  since  the  supper  was  so  exceedingly 
small,  she  could  not  help  wishing  that  their 
appetites  had  not  been  quite  so  large.  Why, 
at  their  very  first  sitting  down,  the  travellers 
both  drank  off  all  the  milk  in  their  two  bowls, 
at  a  draught. 

"A  little  more  milk,  kind  Mother  Baucis,  if 

13 


i92  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

you  please,"  said  Quicksilver.  "The  day  has 
been  hot,  and  I  am  very  much  athirst." 

"Now,  my  dear  people,"  answered  Baucis, 
in  great  confusion,  "  I  am  so  sorry  and 
ashamed!  But  the  truth  is,  there  is  hardly 
a  drop  more  milk  in  the  pitcher.  O  husband! 
husband!  why  didn't  we  go  without  our 
supper  ? ' ' 

"Why,  it  appears  to  me,"  cried  Quicksilver, 
starting  up  from  the  table  and  taking  the  pitcher 
by  the  handle,  "it  really  appears  to  me  that 
matters  are  not  quite  so  bad  as  you  represent 
them.  Here  is  certainly  more  milk  in  the 
pitcher." 

So  saying,  and  to  the  vast  astonishment  of 
Baucis,  he  proceeded  to  fill,  not  only  his  own 
bowl,  but  his  companion's  likewise,  from  the 
pitcher,  that  was  supposed  to  be  almost  empty. 
The  good  woman  could  scarcely  believe  her 
eyes.  She  had  certainly  poured  out  nearly  all 
the  milk,  and  had  peeped  in  afterwards,  and 
seen  the  bottom  of  the  pitcher,  as  she  set  it 
down  upon  the  table. 

"But  I  am  old,"  thought  Baucis  to  herself, 
"and  apt  to  be  forgetful.  I  suppose  I  must 
have  made  a  mistake.  At  all  events,  the  pitcher 
cannot  help  being  empty  now,  after  filling  the 
bowls  twice  over." 

"What  excellent  milk!"  observed  Quick- 
silver, after  quaffing  the  contents  of  the  second 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       193 

bowl.  "  Excuse  me,  my  kind  hostess,  but  I 
must  really  ask  you  for  a  little  more." 

Now  Baucis  had  seen,  as  plainly  as  she  could 
see  anything,  that  Quicksilver  had  turned  the 
pitcher  upside  down,  and  consequently  had 
poured  out  every  drop  of  milk,  in  filling  the  last 
bowl.  Of  course,  there  could  not  possibly  be 
any  left.  However,  in  order  to  let  him  know 
precisely  how  the  case  was,  she  lifted  the  pitcher, 
and  made  a  gesture  as  if  pouring  milk  into 
Quicksilver's  bowl,  but  without  the  remotest 
idea  that  any  milk  would  stream  forth.  What 
was  her  surprise,  therefore,  when  such  an 
abundant  cascade  fell  bubbling  into  the  bowl, 
that  it  immediately  filled  to  the  brim,  and 
overflowed  upon  the  table!  The  two  snakes 
that  were  twisted  about  Quicksilver's  staff 
(but  neither  Baucis  nor  Philemon  happened 
to  observe  this  circumstance)  stretched  out 
their  heads,  and  began  to  lap  up  the  spilt  milk. 

And  then  what  a  delicious  fragrance  the  milk 
had!  It  seemed  as  if  Philemon's  only  cow 
must  have  pastured  that  day,  on  the  richest, 
herbage  that  could  be  found  anywhere  in  the 
world.  I  only  wish  that  each  of  you,  my 
beloved  little  souls,  could  have  such  a  bowl  of 
nice  milk,  at  supper- time! 

"And  now  a  slice  of  your  brown  loaf,  Mother 
Baucis,"  said  Quicksilver,  "and  a  little  of  that 
honey ! ' ' 


i94  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Baucis  cut  him  a  slice  accordingly;  and 
though  the  loaf,  when  she  and  her  husband  ate 
of  it,  had  been  rather  too  dry  and  crusty  to  be 
palatable,  it  was  now  as  light  and  moist  as  if 
but  a  few  hours  out  of  the  oven.  Tasting  a 
crumb,  which  had  fallen  on  the  table,  she  found 
it  more  delicious  than  bread  ever  was  before, 
and  could  hardly  believe  that  it  was  a  loaf  of 
her  own  kneading  and  baking.  Yet,  what  other 
loaf  could  it  possibly  be? 

But,  oh  the  honey!  I  may  just  as  well  let 
it  alone,  without  trying  to  describe  how  exquis- 
itely it  smelt  and  looked.  Its  color  was  that 
of  the  purest  and  most  transparent  gold;  and 
it  had  the  odor  of  a  thousand  flowers;  but 
of  such  flowers  as  never  grew  in  an  earthly  gar- 
den, and  to  seek  which  the  bees  must  have  flown 
high  above  the  clouds.  The  wonder  is,  that 
after  alighting  on  a  flower-bed  of  so  delicious 
fragrance  and  immortal  bloom,  they  should 
have  been  content  to  fly  down  again  to  their 
hive  in  Philemon's  garden.  Never  was  such 
honey  tasted,  seen,  or  smelt.  The  perfume 
floated  around  the  kitchen,  and  made  it  so 
delightful,  that,  had  you  closed  your  eyes,  you 
would  instantly  have  forgotten  the  low  ceiling 
and  smoky  walls,  and  have  fancied  yourself 
in  an  arbor,  with  celestial  honeysuckles  creeping 
over  it ! 

Although  good  Mother  Baucis  was  a  simple 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       195 

old  dame,  she  could  not  but  think  that  there  was 
something  rather  out  of  the  common  way,  in  all 
that  had  been  going  on.  So,  after  helping  the 
guests  to  bread  and  honey,  and  laying  a  bunch 
of  grapes  by  each  of  their  plates,  she  sat  down 
by  Philemon,  and  told  him  what  she  had  seen, 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like?"  asked  she. 

"No,  I  never  did,"  answered  Philemon,  with 
a  smile.  "And  I  rather  think,  my  dear  old 
wife,  you  have  been  walking  about  in  a  sort  of 
dream.  If  I  had  poured  out  the  milk  I  should 
have  seen  through  the  business  at  once.  There 
happened  to  be  a  little  more  in  the  pitcher  than 
you  thought, — that  is  all." 

"Ah,  husband,"  said  Baucis,  "say  what  you 
will,  these  are  very  uncommon  people." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  Philemon,  still  smiling, 
"perhaps  they  are.  They  certainly  do  look  as 
if  they  had  seen  better  days;  and  I  am  heartily 
glad  to  see  them  making  so  comfortable  a 
supper." 

Each  of  the  guests  had  now  taken  his  bunch 
of  grapes  upon  his  plate.  Baucis  (who  rubbed 
her  eyes,  in  order  to  see  the  more  clearly),  was 
of  opinion  that  the  clusters  had  grown  larger 
and  richer,  and  that  each  separate  grape  seemed 
to  be  on  the  point  of  bursting  with  ripe  juice. 
It  was  entirely  a  mystery  to  her  how  such  grapes 
could  ever  have  been  produced  from  the  old 


196  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

stunted  vine  that  climbed  against  the  cottage 
wall. 

"Very  admirable  grapes  these!"  observed 
Quicksilver,  as  he  swallowed  one  after  another, 
without  apparently  diminishing  his  cluster. 
"  Pray,  my  good  host,  whence  did  you  gather 
them?" 

"From  my  own  vine,"  answered  Philemon. 
"You  may  see  one  of  its  branches  twisting 
across  the  window,  yonder.  But  wife  and  I 
never  thought  the  grapes  very  fine  ones." 

"I  never  tasted  better,"  said  the  guest. 
"Another  cup  of  this  delicious  milk,  if  you 
please,  and  I  shall  then  have  supped  better  than 
a  prince." 

This  time,  old  Philemon  bestirred  himself, 
and  took  up  the  pitcher;  for  he  was  curious  to 
discover  whether  there  was  any  reality  in  the 
marvels  which  Baucis  had  whispered  to  him. 
He  knew  that  his  good  old  wife  was  incapable 
of  falsehood,  and  that  she  was  seldom  mistaken 
in  what  she  supposed  to  be  true;  but  this  was 
so  very  singular  a  case,  that  he  wanted  to  see 
into  it  with  his  own  eyes.  On  taking  up  the 
pitcher,  therefore,  he  slyly  peeped  into  it,  and 
was  fully  satisfied  that  it  contained  not  so  much 
as  a  single  drop.  All  at  once,  however,  he 
beheld  a  little  white  fountain,  which  gushed 
up  from  the  bottom  of  the  pitcher,  and  speedily 
filled  it  to  the  brim  with  foaming  and  deliciously 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       197 

fragrant  milk.  It  was  lucky  that  Philemon,  in 
his  surprise,  did  not  drop  the  miraculous  pitcher 
from  his  hand. 

''Who  are  ye,  wonder-working  strangers!" 
cried  he,  even  more  bewildered  than  his  wife 
had  been. 

'Your  guests,  my  good  Philemon,  and  your 
friends,"  replied  the  elder  traveller,  in  his  mild, 
deep  voice,  that  had  something  at  once  sweet 
and  awe-inspiring  in  it.  "  Give  me  likewise  a 
cup  of  the  milk;  and  may  your  pitcher  never 
be  emptied  for  kind  Baucis  and  yourself,  any 
more  than  for  the  needy  wayfarer!" 

The  supper  being  now  over,  the  strangers 
requested  to  be  shown  to  their  place  of  repose. 
The  old  people  would  gladly  have  talked  with 
them  a  little  longer,  and  have  expressed  the 
wonder  which  they  felt,  and  their  delight  at 
finding  the  poor  and  meagre  supper  prove  so 
much  better  and  more  abundant  than  they 
hoped.  But  the  elder  traveller  had  inspired 
them  with  such  reverence  that  they  dared  not 
ask  him  any  questions.  And  when  Philemon 
drew  Quicksilver  aside  and  inquired  how  under 
the  sun  a  fountain  of  milk  could  have  got  into 
an  old  earthen  pitcher,  this  latter  personage 
pointed  to  his  staff. 

"There  is  the  whole  mystery  of  the  affair," 
quoth  Quicksilver;  "and  if  you  can  make  it  out, 
I'll  thank  you  to  let  me  know.     I  can't  tell  what 


198  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

to  make  of  my  staff.  It  is  always  playing  such 
odd  tricks  as  this;  sometimes  getting  me  a 
supper;  and,  quite  as  often,  stealing  it  away. 
If  I  had  any  faith  in  such  nonsense,  I  should  say 
the  stick  was  bewitched!" 

He  said  no  more,  but  looked  so  slyly  in  their 
faces,  that  they  rather  fancied  he  was  laughing 
at  them.  The  magic  staff  went  hopping  at  his 
heels,  as  Quicksilver  quitted  the  room.  When 
left  alone,  the  good  old  couple  spent  some  little 
time  in  conversation  about  the  events  of 
the  evening,  and  then  lay  down  on  the  floor, 
and  fell  fast  asleep.  They  had  given  up 
their  sleeping-room  to  the  guests,  and  had  no 
other  bed  for  themselves,  save  these  planks, 
which  I  wish  had  been  as  soft  as  their  own 
hearts. 

The  old  man  and  his  wife  were  stirring, 
betimes,  in  the  morning,  and  the  strangers 
likewise  arose  with  the  sun,  and  made  their 
preparations  to  depart.  Philemon  hospitably 
entreated  them  to  remain  a  little  longer,  until 
Baucis  could  milk  the  cow,  and  bake  a  cake  upon 
the  hearth,  and,  perhaps,  find  them  a  few  fresh 
eggs,  for  breakfast.  The  guests,  however, 
seemed  to  think  it  better  to  accomplish  a  good 
part  of  their  journey  before  the  heat  of  the  day 
should  come  on.  They,  therefore,  persisted  in 
setting  out  immediately,  but  asked  Philemon 
and  Baucis  to  walk  forth  with  them  a  short 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       199 

distance,  and  show  them  the  road  which  they 
were  to  take. 

So  they  all  four  issued  from  the  cottage, 
chatting  together  like  old  friends.  It  was  very 
remarkable  indeed,  how  familiar  the  old  couple 
insensibly  grew  with  the  elder  traveller,  and 
how  their  good  and  simple  spirits  melted  into 
his,  even  as  two  drops  of  water  would  melt  into 
the  illimitable  ocean.  And  as  for  Quicksilver, 
with  his  keen,  quick,  laughing  wits,  he  appeared 
to  discover  every  little  thought  that  but  peeped 
into  their  minds,  before  they  suspected  it  them- 
selves. They  sometimes  wished,  it  is  true,  that 
he  had  not  been  quite  so  quick-witted,  and  also 
that  he  would  fling  away  his  staff,  which  looked 
so  mysteriously  mischievous,  with  the  snakes 
always  writhing  about  it.  But,  then  again, 
Quicksilver  showed  himself  so  very  good- 
humored  that  they  would  have  rejoiced  to  keep 
him  in  their  cottage,  staff,  snakes  and  all,  every 
day,  and  the  whole  day  long. 

"Ah  me!  Well-a-day!"  exclaimed  Phile- 
mon, when  they  had  walked  a  little  way  from 
their  door.  "If  our  neighbors  only  knew  what 
a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  show  hospitality  to 
strangers,  they  would  tie  up  all  their  dogs,  and 
never  allow  their  children  to  fling  another 
stone." 

"  It  is  a  sin  and  shame  for  them  to  behave  so, 
— that   it   is!"    cried   good   old    Baucis,    vehe- 


2oo  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

mently.  "And  I  mean  to  go  this  very  day, 
and  tell  some  of  them  what  naughty  people 
they  are ! ' ' 

"I  fear,"  remarked  Quicksilver,  slyly  smiling, 
"  that  you  will  find  none  of  them  at  home." 

The  elder  traveller's  brow,  just  then,  assumed 
such  a  grave,  stern,  and  awful  grandeur,  yet 
serene  withal,  that  neither  Baucis  nor  Philemon 
dared  to  speak  a  word.  They  gazed  reverently 
into  his  face,  as  if  they  had  been  gazing  at 
the  sky. 

'  When  men  do  not  feel  towards  the  humblest 
stranger  as  if  he  were  a  brother,"  said  the  tra- 
veller, in  tones  so  deep  that  they  sounded  like 
those  of  an  organ,  "  they  are  unworthy  to  exist 
on  earth,  which  was  created  as  the  abode  of  a 
great  human  brotherhood!" 

"And,  by  the  by,  my  dear  old  people,"  cried 
Quicksilver,  with  the  liveliest  look  of  fun  and 
mischief  in  his  eyes,  "where  is  this  same  village 
that  you  talk  about?  On  which  side  of  us 
does  it  lie?  Methinks  I  do  not  see  it  here- 
abouts." 

Philemon  and  his  wife  turned  towards  the 
valley,  where,  at  sunset,  only  the  day  before, 
they  had  seen  the  meadows,  the  houses,  the 
gardens,  the  clumps  of  trees,  the  wide,  green- 
margined  street,  with  children  playing  in  it, 
and  all  the  tokens  of  business,  enjoyment,  and 
prosperity.     But  what  was  their  astonishment! 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       201 

There  was  no  longer  any  appearance  of  a  village ! 
Even  the  fertile  vale,  in  the  hollow  of  which  it 
lay,  had  ceased  to  have  existence.  In  its 
stead,  they  beheld  the  broad,  blue  surface  of 
a  lake,  which  filled  the  great  basin  of  the  valley 
from  brim  to  brim,  and  reflected  the  surrounding 
hills  in  its  bosom  with  as  tranquil  an  image  as 
if  it  had  been  there  ever  since  the  creation  of 
the  world.  For  an  instant,  the  lake  remained 
perfectly  smooth.  Then,  a  little  breeze  sprang 
up,  and  caused  the  water  to  dance,  glitter,  and 
sparkle  in  the  early  sunbeams,  and  to  dash 
with  a  pleasant  rippling  murmur,  against  the 
hither  shore. 

The  lake  seemed  so  strangely  familiar,  that 
the  old  couple  were  greatly  perplexed,  and  felt 
as  if  they  could  only  have  been  dreaming  about 
a  village  having  lain  there.  But,  the  next 
moment,  they  remembered  the  vanished  dwell- 
ings, and  the  faces  and  characters  of  the  inhabi- 
tants, far  too  distinctly  for  a  dream.  The 
village  had  been  there  yesterday,  and  now  was 
gone! 

"Alas!"  cried  these  kind-hearted  old  people, 
"what  has  become  of  our  poor  neighbors?" 

"They  exist  no  longer  as  men  and  women," 
said  the  elder  traveller,  in  his  grand  and  deep 
voice,  while  a  roll  of  thunder  seemed  to  echo 
it  at  a  distance.  "  There  was  neither  use  nor 
beauty  in  such  a  life  as  theirs;  for  they  never 


202  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

softened  or  sweetened  the  hard  lot  of  mortality 
by  the  exercise  of  kindly  affections  between 
man  and  man.  They  retained  no  image  of  the 
better  life  in  their  bosoms;  therefore,  the  lake, 
that  was  of  old,  has  spread  itself  forth  again,  to 
reflect  the  sky!" 

"  And  as  for  these  foolish  people,"  said  Quick- 
silver, with  his  mischievous  smile,  "they  are 
all  transformed  to  fishes.  They  needed  but 
little  change,  for  they  were  already  a  scaly  set 
of  rascals,  and  the  coldest-blooded  beings  in 
existence.  So,  kind  Mother  Baucis,  whenever 
you  or  your  husband  have  an  appetite  for  a 
dish  of  broiled  trout,  he  can  throw  in  a  line, 
and  pull  out  half  a  dozen  of  your  old  neighbors! " 

"Ah,"  cried  Baucis,  shuddering,  "I  would 
not,  for  the  world,  put  one  of  them  on  the 
gridiron ! ' ' 

"No,"  added  Philemon,  making  a  wry  face, 
"we  could  never  relish  them!" 

"As  for  you,  good  Philemon,"  continued  the 
elder  traveller, — "  and  you,  kind  Baucis, — you, 
with  your  scanty  means — have  mingled  so 
much  heartfelt  hospitality  with  your  enter- 
tainment of  the  homeless  stranger,  that  the 
milk  became  an  inexhaustible  fount  of  nectar, 
and  the  brown  loaf  and  the  honey  were  am- 
brosia. Thus,  the  divinities  have  feasted,  at 
your  board,  of  the  same  viands  that  supply 
their  banquets  on  Olympus.     You  have  done 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       203 

well,  my  dear  old  friends.  Wherefore,  request 
whatever  favor  you  have  most  at  heart,  and  it 
is  granted." 

Philemon  and  Baucis  looked  at  one  another, 
and  then, — I  know  not  which  of  the  two  it  was 
who  spoke,  but  that  one  uttered  the  desire  of 
both  their  hearts. 

"Let  us  live  together,  while  we  live,  and 
leave  the  world  at  the  same  instant,  when  we 
die!     For  we  have  always  loved  one  another!" 

"Be  it  so!"  replied  the  stranger,  with  ma- 
jestic kindness.  "  Now,  look  towards  your 
cottage!" 

They  did  so.  But  what  was  their  surprise 
on  beholding  a  tall  edifice  of  white  marble, 
with  a  wide-open  portal,  occupying  the  spot 
where  their  humble  residence  had  so  lately 
stood ! 

"There  is  your  home,"  said  the  stranger, 
beneficently  smiling  on  them  both.  "  Exercise 
your  hospitality  in  yonder  palace  as  freely  as  in 
the  poor  hovel  to  which  you  welcomed  us  last 
evening." 

The  old  folks  fell  on  their  knees  to  thank 
him;  but,  behold!  neither  he  nor  Quicksilver 
was  there. 

vSo  Philemon  and  Baucis  took  up  their  resi- 
dence in  the  marble  palace,  and  spent  their  time 
with  vast  satisfaction  to  themselves,  in  making 
everybody  jolly  and  comfortable  who  happened 


2o4  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

to  pass  that  way.  The  milk-pitcher,  I  must 
not  forget  to  say,  retained  its  marvellous  quality 
of  being  never  empty,  when  it  was  desirable  to 
have  it  full.  Whenever  an  honest,  good- 
humored,  and  free-hearted  guest  took  a  draught 
from  this  pitcher,  he  invariably  found  it  the 
sweetest  and  most  invigorating  fluid  that  ever 
ran  down  his  throat.  But,  if  a  cross  and  dis- 
agreeable curmudgeon  happened  to  sip,  he 
was  pretty  certain  to  twist  his  visage  into  a 
hard  knot,  and  pronounce  it  a  pitcher  of  sour 
milk! 

Thus  the  old  couple  lived  in  their  palace  a 
great,  great  while,  and  grew  older  and  older, 
and  very  old  indeed.  At  length,  however, 
there  came  a  summer  morning  when  Philemon 
and  Baucis  failed  to  make  their  appearance, 
as  on  other  mornings,  with  one  hospitable  smile 
overspreading  both  their  pleasant  faces,  to 
invite  the  guests  of  over-night  to  breakfast. 
The  guests  searched  everywhere,  from  top  to 
bottom  of  the  spacious  palace,  and  all  to  no 
purpose.  But,  after  a  great  deal  of  perplexity, 
they  espied,  in  front  of  the  portal,  two  venerable 
trees,  which  nobody  could  remember  to  have 
seen  there  the  day  before.  Yet,  there  they 
stood,  with  their  roots  fastened  deep  into  the 
soil,  and  a  huge  breadth  of  foliage  overshadow- 
ing the  whole  front  of  the  edifice.  One  was 
an   oak,   and   the   other   a  linden- tree.     Their 


THE  MIRACULOUS  PITCHER.       205 

boughs — it  was  strange  and  beautiful  to  see 
— were  intertwined  together,  and  embraced 
one  another,  so  that  each  tree  seemed  to  live 
in  the  other  tree's  bosom  much  more  than  in 
its  own. 

While  the  guests  were  marvelling  how  these 
trees  that  must  have  required  at  least  a  century 
to  grow,  could  have  come  to  be  so  tall  and 
venerable  in  a  single  night,  a  breeze  sprang  up, 
and  set  their  intermingled  boughs  astir.  And 
then  there  was  a  deep,  broad  murmur  in  the 
air,  as  if  the  two  mysterious  trees  were  speaking. 

"I  am  old  Philemon!"  murmured  the  oak. 

"I  am  old  Baucis!"  murmured  the  linden- 
tree. 

But,  as  the  breeze  grew  stronger,  the  trees 
both  spoke  at  once — "Philemon!  Baucis! 
Baucis !  Philemon ! " —  as  if  one  were  both 
and  both  were  one,  and  talking  together  in  the 
depths  of  their  mutual  heart.  It  was  plain 
enough  to  perceive  that  the  good  old  couple  had 
renewed  their  age,  and  were  now  to  spend  a 
quiet  and  delightful  hundred  years  or  so,  Phile- 
mon as  an  oak,  and  Baucis  as  a  linden-tree. 
And  oh,  what  a  hospitable  shade  did  they  fling 
around  them.  Whenever  a  wayfarer  passed 
beneath  it,  he  heard  a  pleasant  whisper  of  the 
leaves  above  his  head,  and  wondered  how  the 
sound  should  so  much  resemble  words  like 
these : — 


206 


A  WONDER-BOOK. 


"Welcome,  welcome,  dear  traveller,  wel- 
come ! ' ' 

And  some  kind  soul,  that  knew  what  would 
have  pleased  old  Baucis  and  old  Philemon  best, 
built  a  circular  seat  around  both  their  trunks, 
where,  for  a  great  while  afterwards,  the  weary, 
and  the  hungry,  and  the  thirsty  used  to  repose 
themselves,  and  quaff  milk  abundantly  out  of 
the  miraculous  pitcher. 

And  I  wish,  for  all  our  sakes,  that  we  had 
the  pitcher  here  now! 


THE   HILL-SIDE. 

AFTER   THE    STORY. 

"How  much  did  the  pitcher  hold?"  asked 
Sweet  Fern. 

"It  did  not  hold  quite  a  quart,"  answered 
the  student;  "but  you  might  keep  pouring  milk 
out  of  it,  till  you  should  fill  a  hogshead,  if  you 
pleased.  The  truth  is,  it  would  run  on  forever, 
and  not  be  dry,  even  at  mid-summer, — which 
is  more  than  can  be  said  of  yonder  rill,  that  goes 
babbling  down  the  hill-side." 

"And  what  has  become  of  the  pitcher  now?" 
inquired  the  little  boy. 

"It  was  broken,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  about 
twenty-five  thousand  years  ago,"  replied  Cousin 
Eustace.  "The  people  mended  it  as  well  as 
they  could,  but  though  it  would  hold  milk 
pretty  well,  it  was  never  afterwards  known  to 
fill  itself  of  its  own  accord.  So,  you  see,  it 
was  no  better  than  any  other  cracked  earthen 
pitcher." 

"What  a  pity!"  cried  all  the  children  at 
once. 

The  respectable  dog  Ben  had  accompanied 

14  207 


2o8  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

the  party,  as  did  likewise  a  half-grown  New- 
foundland puppy,  who  went  by  the  name  of 
Bruin,  because  he  was  just  as  black  as  a  bear. 
Ben,  being  elderly,  and  of  very  circumspect 
habits,  was  respectfully  requested,  by  Cousin 
Eustace,  to  stay  behind  with  the  four  little 
children,  in  order  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief. 
As  for  Black  Bruin,  who  was  himself  nothing 
but  a  child,  the  student  thought  it  best  to  take 
him  along,  lest,  in  his  rude  play,  with  the  other 
children,  he  should  trip  them  up,  and  send  them 
rolling  and  tumbling  down  the  hill.  Advising 
Cowslip,  Sweet  Fern,  Dandelion,  and  Squash- 
Blossom  to  sit  pretty  still,  in  the  spot  where  he 
left  them,  the  student,  with  Primrose  and  the 
elder  children,  began  to  ascend,  and  were  soon 
out  of  sight  among  the  trees. 


THE   CHIMERA. 


BALD-SUMMIT. 

INTRODUCTORY    TO    "  THE    CHIMERA." 

Upward,  along  the  steep  and  wooded  hill-side, 
went  Eustace  Bright  and  his  companions.  The 
trees  were  not  yet  in  full  leaf,  but  had  budded 
forth  sufficiently  to  throw  an  airy  shadow, 
while  the  sunshine  filled  them  with  green  light. 
There  were  moss-grown  rocks,  half  hidden 
among  the  old,  brown,  fallen  leaves;  there  were 
rotton  tree-trunks,  lying  at  full  length  where 
they  had  long  ago  fallen;  there  were  decayed 
boughs,  that  had  been  shaken  down  by  the 
wintry  gales,  and  were  scattered  everywhere 
about.  But  still,  though  these  things  looked 
so  aged,  the  aspect  of  the  wood  was  that  of 
the  newest  life;  for,  whichever  way  you  turned 
your  eyes,  something  fresh  and  green  was  spring- 
ing forth,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  the  summer. 

At  last,  the  young  people  reached  the  upper 
verge  of  the  wood,  and  found  themselves  almost 
at  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  was  not  a  peak, 
nor  a  great  round  ball,  but  a  pretty  wide  plain, 
or  table-land,  with  a  house  and  a  barn  upon  it, 
at  some  distance.     That  house  was  the  home 

211 


2i2  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

of  a  solitary  family;  and  oftentimes  the  clouds, 
whence  fell  the  rain,  and  whence  the  snow- 
storm drifted  down  into  the  valley,  hung  lower 
than  this  bleak  and  lonely  dwelling-place. 

On  the  highest  point  of  the  hill  was  a  heap 
of  stones,  in  the  center  of  which  was  stuck  a 
long  pole,  with  a  little  flag  fluttering  at  the 
end  of  it.  Eustace  led  the  children  thither, 
and  bade  them  look  around,  and  see  how  large 
a  tract  of  our  beautiful  world  they  could  take 
in  at  a  glance.  And  their  eyes  grew  wider  as 
they  looked. 

Monument  Mountain,  to  the  southward,  was 
still  in  the  centre  of  the  scene,  but  seemed  to 
have  sunk  and  subsided,  so  that  it  was  now  but 
an  undistinguished  member  of  a  large  family 
of  hills.  Beyond  it,  the  Taconic  range  looked 
higher  and  bulkier  than  before.  Our  pretty 
lake  was  seen,  with  all  its  little  bays  and  inlets; 
and  not  that  alone,  but  two  or  three  new  lakes 
were  opening  their  blue  eyes  to  the  sun.  Several 
white  villages,  each  with  its  steeple,  were  scat- 
tered about  in  the  distance.  There  were  so 
many  farm-houses,  with  their  acres  of  wood- 
land, pasture,  mowing-fields,  and  tillage,  that 
the  children  could  hardly  make  room  in  their 
minds  to  receive  all  these  different  objects. 
There,  too,  was  Tanglewood,  which  they  had 
hitherto  thought  such  an  important  apex  of 
the  world.     It  now  occupied  so  small  a  space. 


THE  CHIMERA.  213 

that  they  gazed  far  beyond  it,  and  on  either 
side,  and  searched  a  good  while  with  all  their 
eyes,   before  discovering  whereabout  it  stood. 

White,  fleecy  clouds  were  hanging  in  the  air, 
and  threw  the  dark  spots  of  their  shadow  here 
and  there  over  the  landscape.  But,  by  and  by, 
the  sunshine  was  where  the  shadow  had  been, 
and  the  shadow  was  somewhere  else. 

Far  to  the  westward  was  a  range  of  blue 
mountains,  which  Eustace  Bright  told  the 
children  were  the  Catskills.  Among  those  misty 
hills,  he  said,  was  a  spot  where  some  old  Dutch- 
men were  playing  an  everlasting  game  of  nine- 
pins, and  where  an  idle  fellow,  whose  name 
was  Rip  Van  Winkle,  had  fallen  asleep,  and 
slept  twenty  years  at  a  stretch.  The  children 
eagerly  besought  Eustace  to  tell  them  all  about 
this  wonderful  affair.  But  the  student  replied 
that  the  story  had  been  told  once  already,  and 
better  than  it  could  ever  be  told  again;  and 
that  nobody  would  have  a  right  to  alter  a  word 
of  it,  until  it  should  have  grown  as  old  as  "  The 
Gorgon's  Head,"  and  "The  Three  Golden 
Apples,"  and  the  rest  of  those  miraculous 
legends. 

"At  least"  said  Periwinkle,  "while  we  rest 
ourselves  here,  and  are  looking  about  us,  you 
can  tell  us  another  of  your  own  stories." 

"Yes,  Cousin  Eustace,"  cried  Primrose,  "I 
advise  you  to  tell  us  a  story  here.     Take  some 


2i4  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

lofty  subject  or  other,  and  see  if  your  imagina- 
tion will  not  come  up  to  it.  Perhaps  the  moun- 
tain air  may  make  you  poetical,  for  once.  And 
no  matter  how  strange  and  wonderful  the  story 
may  be,  now  that  we  are  up  among  the  clouds, 
we  can  believe  anything." 

''Can  you  believe,"  asked  Eustace,  "that 
there  was  once  a  wTinged  horse?" 

"Yes,"  said  saucy  Primrose;  "but  I  am 
afraid  you  will  never  be  able  to  catch  him." 

"For  that  matter,  Primrose,"  rejoined  the 
student;  "I  might  possibly  catch  Pegasus,  and 
get  upon  his  back,  too,  as  well  as  a  dozen  other 
fellows  that  I  know  of.  At  any  rate,  here  is  a 
story  about  him ;  and,  of  all  places  in  the  world, 
it  ought  certainly  to  be  told  upon  a  mountain- 
top." 

So,  sitting  on  a  pile  of  stones,  while  the 
children  clustered  themselves  at  its  base,  Eus- 
tace fixed  his  eyes  on  a  white  cloud  that  was 
sailing  by,  and  began  as  follows. 


THE  CHIMERA. 

Once  in  the  old,  old  times  (for  all  the  strange 
things  which  I  tell  you  about  happened  long 
before  anybody  can  remember),  a  fountain 
gushed  out  of  a  hill-side,  in  the  marvelous  land 
of  Greece.  And,  for  aught  I  know,  after  so 
many  thousand  years,  it  is  still  gushing  out  of 
the  very  selfsame  spot.  At  any  rate,  there  was 
the  pleasant  fountain,  welling  freshly  forth  and 
sparkling  adown  the  hill-side,  in  the  golden 
sunset,  when  a  handsome  young  man  named 
Bellerophon  drew  near  its  margin.  In  his  hand 
he  held  a  bridle,  studded  with  brilliant  gems, 
and  adorned  with  a  golden  bit.  Seeing  an  old 
man,  and  another  of  middle  age,  and  a  little 
boy,  near  the  fountain,  and  likewise  a  maiden 
who  was  dipping  up  some  of  the  water  in  a 
pitcher,  he  paused,  and  begged  that  he  might 
refresh  himself  with  a  draught. 

"This  is  very  delicious  water,"  he  said  to  the 
maiden  as  he  rinsed  and  filled  her  pitcher,  after 
drinking  out  of  it.  "Will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  tell  me  whether  the  fountain  has  any  name?" 

"Yes;  it  is  called  the  Fountain  of  Pirene," 

215 


216  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

answered  the  maiden;  and  then  she  added, 
"  My  grandmother  has  told  me  that  this  clear 
fountain  was  once  a  beautiful  woman;  and 
when  her  son  was  killed  by  the  arrows  of  the 
huntress  Diana,  she  melted  all  away  into  tears. 
And  so  the  water,  which  you  find  so  cool  and 
sweet,  is  the  sorrow  of  that  poor  mother's 
heart!" 

"I  should  not  have  dreamed,"  observed  the 
young  stranger,  "that  so  clear  a  well-spring, 
with  its  gush  and  gurgle,  and  its  cheery  dance 
out  of  the  shade  into  the  sunlight,  had  so  much 
as  one  tear-drop  in  its  bosom!  And  this,  then, 
is  Pirene?  I  thank  you,  pretty  maiden,  for 
telling  me  its  name.  I  have  come  from  a  far- 
away country  to  find  this  very  spot." 

A  middle-aged  country  fellow  (he  had  driven 
his  cow  to  drink  out  of  the  spring)  stared  hard 
at  young  Bellerophon,  and  at  the  handsome 
bridle  which  he  carried  in  his  hand. 

"The  water-courses  must  be  getting  low, 
friend,  in  your  part  of  the  world,"  remarked  he, 
"  if  you  come  so  far  only  to  find  the  Fountain 
of  Pirene.  But  pray,  have  you  lost  a  horse? 
I  see  you  carry  the  bridle  in  your  hand;  and 
a  very  pretty  one  it  is  with  that  double  row 
of  bright  stones  upon  it.  If  the  horse  was  as 
fine  as  the  bridle,  you  are  much  to  be  pitied  for 
losing  him." 

"  I  have  lost  no  horse,"  said  Bellerophon,  with 


THE  CHIMERA.  217 

a  smile.  "But  I  happen  to  be  seeking  a  very 
famous  one,  which,  as  wise  people  have  informed 
me,  must  be  found  hereabouts,  if  anywhere. 
Do  you  know  whether  the  winged  horse  Pegasus 
still  haunts  the  Fountain  of  Pirene,  as  he  used 
to  do  in  your  forefathers'  days?" 

But  then  the  country  fellow  laughed. 

Some  of  you,  my  little  friends,  have  probably 
heard  that  this  Pegasus  was  a  snow-white 
steed,  with  beautiful  silvery  wings,  who  spent 
most  of  his  time  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Heli- 
con. He  was  as  wild,  and  as  swift,  and  as 
buoyant,  in  his  flight  through  the  air,  as  any 
eagle  that  ever  soared  into  the  clouds.  There 
was  nothing  else  like  him  in  the  world.  He 
had  no  mate;  he  never  had  been  backed  or 
bridled  by  a  master ;  and  for  many  a  long  year, 
he  led  a  solitary  and  a  happy  life. 

Oh,  how  fine  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  winged 
horse!  Sleeping  at  night,  as  he  did,  on  a  lofty 
mountain-top,  and  passing  the  greater  part  of 
the  day  in  the  air,  Pegasus  seemed  hardly  to 
be  a  creature  of  the  earth.  Whenever  he  was 
seen,  up  very  high  above  people's  heads,  with 
the  sunshine  on  his  silvery  wings,  you  would 
have  thought  that  he  belonged  to  the  sky,  and 
that,  skimming  a  little  too  low,  he  had  got 
astray  among  our  mists  and  vapors,  and  was 
seeking  his  way  back  again.  It  was  very  pretty 
to  behold  him  plunge  into  the  fleecy  bosom  of 


2i8  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

a  bright  cloud,  and  be  lost  in  it,  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  break  forth  from  the  other 
side.  Or,  in  a  sullen  rain-storm,  when  there 
was  a  gray  pavement  of  clouds  over  the  whole 
sky,  it  would  sometimes  happen  that  the  winged 
horse  descended  right  through  it,  and  the  glad 
light  of  the  upper  region  would  gleam  after  him. 
In  another  instant,  it  is  true,  both  Pegasus  and 
the  pleasant  light  would  be  gone  away  together. 
But  any  one  that  was  fortunate  enough  to  see 
this  wondrous  spectacle  felt  cheerful  the  whole 
day  afterwards,  and  as  much  longer  as  the 
storm  lasted. 

In  the  summer-time,  and  in  the  beautifullest 
of  weather,  Pegasus  often  alighted  on  the  solid 
earth,  and,  closing  his  silvery  wings,  would 
gallop  over  hill  and  dale  for  pastime,  as  fleetly 
as  the  wind.  Oftener  than  in  any  other  place, 
he  had  been  seen  near  the  Fountain  of  Pirene, 
drinking  the  delicious  water,  or  rolling  himself 
upon  the  soft  grass  of  the  margin.  Sometimes, 
too  (but  Pegasus  was  very  dainty  in  his  food), 
he  would  crop  a  few  of  the  clover-blossoms  that 
happened  to  be  sweetest. 

To  the  Fountain  of  Pirene,  therefore,  people's 
great-grandfathers  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
going  (as  long  as  they  were  youthful,  and 
retained  their  faith  in  winged  horses),  in  hopes 
of  getting  a  glimpse  at  the  beautiful  Pegasus. 
But,  of  late  years,  he  had  been  very  seldom 


THE  CHIMERA.  219 

seen.  Indeed,  there  were  many  of  the  country 
folks,  dwelling  within  half  an  hour's  walk  of  the 
fountain,  who  had  never  beheld  Pegasus,  and 
did  not  believe  that  there  was  any  such  creature 
in  existence.  The  country  fellow  to  whom 
Bellerophon  was  speaking  chanced  to  be  one  of 
those  incredulous  persons. 

And  that  was  the  reason  why  he  laughed. 

"Pegasus,  indeed!"  cried  he,  turning  up  his 
nose  as  high  as  such  a  flat  nose  could  be  turned 
up,  —  "Pegasus,  indeed!  A  winged  horse, 
truly!  Why,  friend,  are  you  in  your  senses? 
Of  what  use  would  wings  be  to  a  horse?  Could 
he  drag  the  plough  so  well,  think  you?  To 
be  sure,  there  might  be  a  little  saving  in  the 
expense  of  shoes;  but  then,  how  would  a  man 
like  to  see  his  horse  flying  out  of  the  stable 
window? — yes,  or  whisking  him  up  above  the 
clouds,  when  he  only  wanted  to  ride  him  to 
mill?  No,  no!  I  don't  believe  in  Pegasus. 
There  never  was  such  a  ridiculous  kind  of  a 
horse-fowl  made!" 

"I  have  some  reason  to  think  otherwise," 
said  Bellerophon,  quietly. 

And  then  he  turned  to  an  old,  gray  man,  who 
was  leaning  on  a  staff,  and  listening  very  atten- 
tively, with  his  head  stretched  forward,  and 
one  hand  at  his  ear,  because,  for  the  last  twenty 
years,  he  had  been  getting  rather  deaf. 

"And  what  say  you,  venerable  sir?"  inquired 


22o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

he.  "  In  your  younger  days,  I  should  imagine 
you  must  frequently  have  seen  the  winged 
steed!" 

"Ah,  young  stranger,  my  memory  is  very 
poor!"  said  the  aged  man.  "When  I  was  a 
lad,  if  I  remember  rightly,  I  used  to  believe 
there  was  such  a  horse,  and  so  did  everybody 
else.  But,  nowadays,  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think,  and  very  seldom  think  about  the  winged 
horse  at  all.  If  I  ever  saw  the  creature,  it  was 
a  long,  long  while  ago;  and,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  doubt  whether  I  ever  did  see  him.  One 
day,  to  be  sure,  when  I  was  quite  a  youth,  I 
remember  seeing  some  hoof-tramps  round  about 
the  brink  of  the  fountain.  Pegasus  might  have 
made  those  hoof -marks;  and  so  might  some 
other  horse." 

"And  have  you  never  seen  him,  my  fair 
maiden?"  asked  Bellerophon  of  the  girl,  who 
stood  with  the  pitcher  on  her  head,  while  this 
talk  went  on.  "You  certainly  could  see  Pega- 
sus, if  anybody  can,  for  your  eyes  are  very 
bright." 

"Once  I  thought  I  saw  him,"  replied  the 
maiden,  with  a  smile  and  a  blush.  "It  was 
either  Pegasus,  or  a  large  white  bird,  a  very 
great  way  up  in  the  air.  And  one  other  time, 
as  I  was  coming  to  the  fountain  with  my  pitcher, 
I  heard  a  neigh.  Oh,  such  a  brisk  and  melodious 
neigh  as  that  was!     My  very  heart  leaped  with 


THE  CHIMERA.  221 

delight  at  the  sound.  But  it  startled  me, 
nevertheless;  so  that  I  ran  home  without  filling 
my  pitcher." 

"That  was  truly  a  pity!"  said  Bellerophon. 

And  he  turned  to  the  child,  whom  I  mentioned 
at  the  beginning  of  the  story,  and  who  was 
gazing  at  him,  as  children  are  apt  to  gaze  at 
strangers,  with  his  rosy  mouth  wide  open. 

"Well,  my  little  fellow,"  cried  Bellerophon, 
playfully  pulling  one  of  his  curls,  "  I  suppose 
you  have  often  seen  the  winged  horse." 

"That  I  have,"  answered  the  child,  very 
readily.  "  I  saw  him  yesterday,  and  many 
times  before." 

"You  are  a  fine  little  man!"  said  Bellero- 
phon, drawing  the  child  closer  to  him.  "  Come, 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Why,"  replied  the  child,  "I  often  come 
here  to  sail  little  boats  in  the  fountain,  and  to 
gather  pretty  pebbles  out  of  its  basin.  And 
sometimes,  when  I  look  down  into  the  water, 
I  see  the  image  of  the  winged  horse,  in  the 
picture  of  the  sky  that  is  there.  I  wish  he 
would  come  down,  and  take  me  on  his  back, 
and  let  me  ride  him  up  to  the  moon!  But,  if 
I  so  much  as  stir  to  look  at  him,  he  flies  far 
away  out  of  sight." 

And  Bellerophon  put  his  faith  in  the  child, 
who  had  seen  the  image  of  Pegasus  in  the  water, 
and  in  the  maiden,  who  had  heard  him  neigh 


222  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

so  melodiously,  rather  than  in  the  middle-aged 
clown  who  believed  only  in  cart-horses,  or  in 
the  old  man  who  had  forgotten  the  beautiful 
things  of  his  youth. 

Therefore,  he  haunted  about  the  Fountain  of 
Pirene  for  a  great  many  days  afterward.  He 
kept  continually  on  the  watch,  looking  upward 
at  the  sky,  or  else  down  into  the  water,  hoping 
forever  that  he  should  see  either  the  reflected 
image  of  the  winged  horse  or  the  marvellous 
reality.  He  held  the  bridle  with  its  bright 
gems  and  golden  bit,  always  ready  in  his  hand. 
The  rustic  people  who  dwelt  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  drove  their  cattle  to  the  fountain  to 
drink,  would  often  laugh  at  poor  Bellerophon, 
and  sometimes  take  him  pretty  severely  to 
task.  They  told  him  that  an  able-bodied 
young  man,  like  himself,  ought  to  have  better 
business  than  to  be  wasting  his  time  in  such 
an  idle  pursuit.  They  offered  to  sell  him  a 
horse,  if  he  wanted  one;  and  when  Bellerophon 
declined  the  purchase,  they  tried  to  drive  a 
bargain  with  him  for  his  fine  bridle. 

Even  the  country  boys  thought  him  so  very 
foolish,  that  they  used  to  have  a  great  deal  of 
sport  about  him,  and  were  rude  enough  not  to 
care  a  fig,  although  Bellerophon  saw  and  heard 
it.  One  little  urchin,  for  example,  would  play 
Pegasus,  and  cut  the  oddest  imaginable  capers, 
by   way   of   flying;   while   one   of   his   school- 


THE  CHIMERA.  223 

fellows  would  scamper  after  him,  holding  forth 
a  twist  of  bulrushes,  which  was  intended  to 
represent  Bellerophon's  ornamental  bridle.  But 
the  gentle  child,  who  had  seen  the  picture  of 
Pegasus  in  the  water,  comforted  the  young 
stranger  more  than  all  the  naughty  boys  could 
torment  him.  The  dear  little  fellow,  in  his 
play-hours,  often  sat  down  beside  him,  and 
without  speaking  a  word,  would  look  down  into 
the  fountain  and  up  towards  the  sky,  with  so 
innocent  a  faith,  that  Bellerophon  could  not 
help  feeling  encouraged. 

Now  you  will,  perhaps,  wish  to  be  told  why 
it  was  that  Bellerophon  had  undertaken  to 
catch  the  winged  horse.  And  we  shall  find 
no  better  opportunity  to  speak  about  this 
matter  than  while  he  is  waiting  for  Pegasus  to 
appear. 

If  I  were  to  relate  the  whole  of  Bellerophon's 
previous  adventures,  they  might  easily  grow 
into  a  very  long  story.  It  will  be  quite  enough 
to  say,  that  in  a  certain  country  of  Asia,  a 
terrible  monster,  called  a  Chimasra,  had  made 
its  appearance,  and  was  doing  more  mischief 
than  could  be  talked  about  between  now  and 
sunset.  According  to  the  best  accounts  which 
I  have  been  able  to  obtain,  this  Chimaera  was 
nearly,  if  not  quite,  the  ugliest  and  most  poison- 
ous creature,  and  the  strangest  and  unaccount- 

ablest,  and  the  hardest  to  fight  with,  and  the 
10 


224  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

most  difficult  to  run  away  from,  that  ever  came 
out  of  the  earth's  inside.  It  had  a  tail  like  a 
boa-constrictor;  its  body  was  like  I  do  not  care 
what;  and  it  had  three  separate  heads,  one  of 
which  was  a  lion's,  the  second  a  goat's,  and 
the  third  an  abominably  great  snake's.  And 
a  hot  blast  of  fire  came  flaming  out  of  each  of 
its  three  mouths!  Being  an  earthly  monster, 
I  doubt  whether  it  had  any  wings;  but,  wings 
or  no,  it  ran  like  a  goat  and  a  lion,  and  wriggled 
along  like  a  serpent,  and  thus  contrived  to 
make  about  as  much  speed  as  all  the  three 
together. 

Oh,  the  mischief,  and  mischief,  and  mischief 
that  this  naughty  creature  did!  With  its 
naming  breath,  it  could  set  a  forest  on  fire,  or 
burn  up  a  field  of  grain,  or,  for  that  matter,  a 
village,  with  all  its  fences  and  houses.  It  laid 
waste  the  whole  country  round  about,  and 
used  to  eat  up  people  and  animals  alive,  and 
cook  them  afterwards  in  the  burning  oven  of 
its  stomach.  Mercy  on  us,  little  children,  I 
hope  neither  you  or  I  will  ever  happen  to  meet 
a  Chimaera! 

While  the  hateful  beast  (if  a  beast  we  can 
anywise  call  it)  was  doing  all  these  horrible 
things,  it  so  chanced  that  Bellerophon  came  to 
that  part  of  the  world,  on  a  visit  to  the  king. 
The  king's  name  was  Iobates,  and  Lycia  was 
the  country  which  he  ruled  over.     Bellerophon 


THE  CHIMERA.  225 

was  one  of  the  bravest  youths  in  the  world,  and 
desired  nothing  so  much  as  to  do  some  valiant 
and  beneficent  deed,  such  as  would  make  all 
mankind  admire  and  love  him.  In  those  days, 
the  only  way  for  a  young  man  to  distinguish 
himself  was  by  fighting  battles,  either  with  the 
enemies  of  his  country,  or  with  wicked  giants, 
or  with  troublesome  dragons,  or  with  wild  beasts, 
when  he  could  find  nothing  more  dangerous 
to  encounter.  King  Iobates,  perceiving  the 
courage  of  his  youthful  visitor,  proposed  to  him 
to  go  and  fight  the  Chimasra,  which  everybody 
else  was  afraid  of,  and  which,  unless  it  should 
be  soon  killed,  was  likely  to  convert  Lycia 
into  a  desert.  Bellerophon  hesitated  not  a 
moment,  but  assured  the  king  that  he  would 
either  slay  this  dreaded  Chimasra,  or  perish  in 
the  attempt. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  as  the  monster  was  so 
prodigiously  swift,  he  bethought  himself  that 
he  should  never  win  the  victory  by  fighting  on 
foot.  The  wisest  thing  he  could  do,  therefore, 
was  to  get  the  very  best  and  fleetest  horse  that 
could  anywhere  be  found.  And  what  other 
horse,  in  all  the  world,  was  half  so  fleet  as  the 
marvellous  horse  Pegasus,  who  had  wings  as 
well  as  legs,  and  was  even  more  active  in  the 
air  than  on  the  earth?  To  be  sure,  a  great 
many  people  denied  that  there  was  any  such 
horse   with   wings,    and   said   that   the   stories 


226  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

about  him  were  all  poetry  and  nonsense.  But 
wonderful  as  it  appeared,  Bellerophon  believed 
that  Pegasus  was  a  real  steed,  and  hoped  that 
he  himself  might  be  fortunate  enough  to  find 
him;  and,  once  fairly  mounted  on  his  back,  he 
would  be  able  to  fight  the  Chimaera  at  better 
advantage. 

And  this  was  the  purpose  with  which  he  had 
traveled  from  Lycia  to  Greece,  and  had  brought 
the  beautifully  ornamented  bridle  in  his  hand. 
It  was  an  enchanted  bridle.  If  he  could  only 
succeed  in  putting  the  golden  bit  into  the  mouth 
of  Pegasus,  the  winged  horse  would  be  sub- 
missive, and  would  own  Bellerophon  for  his 
master,  and  fly  whithersoever  he  might  choose 
to  turn  the  rein. 

But,  indeed,  it  was  a  weary  and  anxious  time, 
while  Bellerophon  waited  and  waited  for  Pega- 
sus, in  hopes  that  he  would  come  and  drink  at 
the  Fountain  of  Pirene.  He  was  afraid  lest 
King  Iobates  should  imagine  that  he  had  fled 
from  the  Chimaera.  It  pained  him,  too,  to 
think  how  much  mischief  the  monster  was  doing 
while  he  himself,  instead  of  fighting  with  it, 
was  compelled  to  sit  idly  poring  over  the  bright 
waters  of  Pirene,  as  they  gushed  out  of  the 
sparkling  sand.  And  as  Pegasus  came  thither 
so  seldom  in  these  latter  years,  and  scarcely 
alighted  there  more  than  once  in  a  lifetime, 
Bellerophon  feared  that  he  might  grow  an  old 


THE  CHIMERA.  227 

man  and  have  no  strength  left  in  his  arms  nor 
courage  in  his  heart,  before  the  winged  horse 
would  appear.  Oh,  how  heavily  passes  the 
time,  while  an  adventurous  youth  is  yearning 
to  do  his  part  in  life,  and  to  gather  in  the  harvest 
of  his  renown !  How  hard  a  lesson  it  is  to  wait ! 
Our  life  is  brief,  and  how  much  of  it  is  spent  in 
teaching  us  only  this! 

Well  was  it  for  Bellerophon  that  the  gentle 
child  had  grown  so  fond  of  him,  and  was  never 
weary  of  keeping  him  company.  Every  morn- 
ing the  child  gave  him  a  new  hope  to  put  in  his 
bosom,  instead  of  yesterday's  withered  one. 

"Dear  Bellerophon,"  he  would  cry,  looking 
up  hopefully  into  his  face,  "  I  think  we  shall  see 
Pegasus  to-day!" 

And,  at  length,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  little 
boy's  unwavering  faith,  Bellerophon  would 
have  given  up  all  hope,  and  would  have  gone 
back  to  Lycia,  and  have  done  his  best  to  slay 
the  Chimaera  without  the  help  of  the  winged 
horse.  And  in  that  case  poor  Bellerophon 
would  at  least  have  been  terribly  scorched  by 
the  creature's  breath,  and  would  most  probably 
have  been  killed  and  devoured.  Nobody  should 
ever  try  to  fight  an  earth-born  Chimaera,  unless 
he  can  first  get  upon  the  back  of  an  aerial  steed. 
/  One  morning  the  child  spoke  to  Bellerophon 
even  more  hopefully  than  usual. 

"Dear,  dear  Bellerophon,"  cried  he,  "I  know 


228  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

not  why  it  is,  but  I  feel  as  if  we  should  certainly 
see  Pegasus  to-day!" 

And  all  that  day  he  would  not  stir  a  step  from 
Bellerophon's  side;  so  they  ate  a  crust  of  bread 
together,  and  drank  some  of  the  water  of  the 
fountain.  In  the  afternoon  there  they  sat,  and 
Bellerophon  had  thrown  his  arm  around  the 
child,  who  likewise  had  put  one  of  his  little 
hands  into  Bellerophon's.  The  latter  was  lost 
in  his  own  thoughts,  and  was  fixing  his  eyes 
vacantly  on  the  trunks  of  the  trees  that  over- 
shadowed the  fountain,  and  on  the  grapevines 
that  clambered  up  among  their  branches.  But 
the  gentle  child  was  gazing  down  into  the  water ; 
he  was  grieved  for  Bellerophon's  sake,  that  the 
hope  of  another  day  should  be  deceived,  like 
so  many  before  it;  and  two  or  three  quiet  tear- 
drops fell  from  his  eyes,  and  mingled  with 
what  were  said  to  be  the  many  tears  of  Pirene, 
when  she  wept  for  her  slain  children. 

But,  when  he  least  thought  of  it,  Bellerophon 
felt  the  pressure  of  the  child's  little  hand,  and 
heard  a  soft,  almost  breathless  whisper. 

"See  there,  dear  Bellerophon!  There  is  an 
image  in  the  water ! ' ' 

The  young  man  looked  down  into  the  dimpling 
mirror  of  the  fountain,  and  saw  what  he  took 
to  be  the  reflection  of  a  bird  which  seemed  to  be 
flying  at  a  great  height  in  the  air,  with  a  gleam 
of  sunshine  on  its  snowy  or  silvery  wings. 


THE  CHIMERA.  229 

"What  a  splendid  bird  it  must  be!"  said  he. 
"  And  how  very  large  it  looks,  though  it  must 
really  be  flying  higher  than  the  clouds ! ' ' 

"It  makes  me  tremble!"  whispered  the 
child.  "I  am  afraid  to  look  up  into  the  air! 
It  is  very  beautiful,  and  yet  I  dare  only  look 
at  its  image  in  the  water.  Dear  Bellerophon, 
do  you  not  see  that  it  is  no  bird?  It  is  the 
winged  horse  Pegasus!" 

Bellerophon's  heart  began  to  throb!  He 
gazed  keenly  upward,  but  could  not  see  the 
winged  creature,  whether  bird  or  horse;  because, 
just  then,  it  had  plunged  into  the  fleecy  depths 
of  a  summer  cloud.  It  was  but  a  moment, 
however,  before  the  object  reappeared,  sinking 
lightly  down  out  of  the  cloud,  although  still 
at  a  vast  distance  from  the  earth.  Bellerophon 
caught  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  shrank  back 
with  him,  so  that  they  were  both  hidden  among 
the  thick  shrubbery  which  grew  all  around  the 
fountain.  Not  that  he  was  afraid  of  any  harm, 
but  he  dreaded  lest,  if  Pegasus  caught  a  glimpse 
of  them,  he  would  fly  far  away,  and  alight  in 
some  inaccessible  mountain-top.  For  it  was 
really  the  winged  horse.  After  they  had  ex- 
pected him  so  long,  he  was  coming  to  quench 
his  thirst  with  the  water  of  Pirene. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  aerial  wonder, 
flying  in  great  circles,  as  you  may  have  seen  a 
dove  when  about  to  alight.     Downward  came 


23o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Pegasus,  in  those  wide,  sweeping  circles,  which 
grew  narrower,  and  narrower  still,  as  he  grad- 
ually approached  the  earth.  The  nigher  the 
view  of  him,  the  more  beautiful  he  was,  and 
the  more  marvellous  the  sweep  of  his  silvery 
wings.  At  last,  with  so  light  a  pressure  as 
hardly  to  bend  the  grass  about  the  fountain, 
or  imprint  a  hoof -tramp  in  the  sand  of  its  margin, 
he  alighted,  and,  stooping  his  wild  head,  began 
to  drink.  He  drew  in  the  water,  with  long  and 
pleasant  sighs,  and  tranquil  pauses  of  enjoy- 
ment; and  then  another  draught,  and  another, 
and  another.  For,  nowhere  in  the  world,  or  up 
among  the  clouds,  did  Pegasus  love  any  water 
as  he  loved  this  of  Pirene.  And  when  his  thirst 
was  slaked,  he  cropped  a  few  of  the  honey- 
blossoms  of  the  clover,  delicately  tasting  them, 
but  not  caring  to  make  a  hearty  meal,  because 
the  herbage,  just  beneath  the  clouds,  on  the 
lofty  sides  of  Mount  Helicon,  suited  his  palate 
better  than  this  ordinary  grass. 

After  thus  drinking  to  his  heart's  content,  and 
in  his  dainty  fashion,  condescending  to  take  a 
little  food,  the  winged  horse  began  to  caper  to  and 
fro,  and  dance  as  it  were,  out  of  mere  idleness 
and  sport.  There  never  was  a  more  playful 
creature  made  than  this  very  Pegasus.  So 
there  he  frisked,  in  a  way  that  it  delights  me  to 
think  about,  fluttering  his  great  wings  as  lightly 
as  ever  did  a  linnet,  and  running  little  races, 


THE  CHIMERA.  231 

half  on  earth,  and  half  in  air,  and  which  I  know 
not  whether  to  call  a  flight  or  a  gallop.  When 
a  creature  is  perfectly  able  to  fly,  he  some- 
times chooses  to  run,  just  for  the  pastime  of 
the  thing;  and  so  did  Pegasus,  although  it 
cost  him  some  little  trouble  to  keep  his  hoofs 
so  near  the  ground.  Bellerophon,  meanwhile, 
holding  the  child's  hand,  peeped  forth  from 
the  shrubbery,  and  thought  that  never  was 
any  sight  so  beautiful  as  this,  nor  ever  a  horse's 
eyes  so  wild  and  spirited  as  those  of  Pegasus. 
It  seemed  a  sin  to  think  of  bridling  him  and 
riding  on  his  back. 

Once  or  twice,  Pegasus  stopped,  and  snuffed 
the  air,  pricking  up  his  ears,  tossing  his  head, 
and  turning  it  on  all  sides,  as  if  he  partly  sus- 
pected some  mischief  or  other.  Seeing  nothing, 
however,  and  hearing  no  sound,  he  soon  began 
his  antics  again. 

At  length, — not  that  he  was  weary,  but  only 
idle  and  luxurious, — Pegasus  folded  his  wings, 
and  lay  down  on  the  soft  green  turf.  But,  being 
too  full  of  aerial  life  to  remain  quiet  for  many 
moments  together,  he  soon  rolled  over  on  his 
back,  with  his  four  slender  legs  in  the  air.  It 
was  beautiful  to  see  him,  this  one  solitary 
creature,  whose  mate  had  never  been  created, 
but  who  needed  no  companion,  and,  living  a 
great  many  hundred  years,  was  as  happy  as 
the  centuries  were  long.     The  more  he  did  such 


232  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

things  as  mortal  horses  are  accustomed  to  do, 
the  less  earthly  and  the  more  wonderful  he 
seemed.  Bellerophon  and  the  child  almost  held 
their  breath,  partly  from  a  delightful  awe,  but 
still  more  because  they  dreaded  lest  the  slightest 
stir  or  murmur  should  send  him  up,  with  the 
speed  of  an  arrow-flight,  into  the  farthest  blue 
of  the  sky. 

Finally,  when  he  had  had  enough  of  rolling 
over  and  over,  Pegasus  turned  himself  about, 
and  indolently,  like  any  other  horse,  put  out  his 
fore  legs,  in  order  to  rise  from  the  ground;  and 
Bellerophon,  who  had  guessed  that  he  would 
do  so,  darted  suddenly  from  the  thicket,  and 
leaped  astride  of  his  back. 

Yes,  there  he  sat,  on  the  back  of  the  winged 
horse ! 

But  what  a  bound  did  Pegasus  make,  when, 
for  the  first  time,  he  felt  the  weight  of  a  mortal 
man  upon  his  loins!  A  bound  indeed!  Before 
he  had  time  to  draw  a  breath,  Bellerophon 
found  himself  five  hundred  feet  aloft,  and  still 
shooting  upward,  while  the  winged  horse  snorted 
and  trembled  with  terror  and  anger.  Upward 
he  went,  up,  up,  up,  until  he  plunged  into  the 
cold  misty  bosom  of  a  cloud,  at  which,  only  a 
little  while  before,  Bellerophon  had  been  gazing, 
and  fancying  it  a  very  pleasant  spot.  Then 
again,  out  of  the  heart  of  the  cloud,  Pegasus  shot 
down  like  a  thunderbolt,  as  if  he  meant  to  dash 


THE  CHIMERA.  233 

both  himself  and  his  rider  headlong  against  a 
rock.  Then  he  went  through  about  a  thousand 
of  the  wildest  caprioles  that  had  ever  been  per- 
formed either  by  a  bird  or  a  horse. 

I  cannot  tell  you  half  that  he  did.  He 
skimmed  straight  forward,  and  sideways,  and 
backward.  He  reared  himself  erect,  with  his 
fore  legs  on  a  wreath  of  mist,  and  his  hind  legs 
on  nothing  at  all.  He  flung  out  his  heels  behind, 
and  put  down  his  head  between  his  legs,  with 
his  wings  pointing  right  upward.  At  about 
two  miles'  height  above  the  earth,  he  turned 
a  somerset,  so  that  Bellerophon's  heels  were 
where  his  head  should  have  been,  and  he  seemed 
to  look  down  into  the  sky,  instead  of  up.  He 
twisted  his  head  about,  and  looking  Bellero- 
phon  in  the  face,  with  fire  flashing  from  his  eyes, 
made  a  terrible  attempt  to  bite  him.  He 
fluttered  his  pinions  so  wildly  that  one  of  the 
silvery  feathers  was  shaken  out,  and  floating 
earthward,  was  picked  up  by  the  child,  who 
kept  it  as  long  as  he  lived,  in  memory  of  Pegasus 
and  Bellerophon. 

But  the  latter  (who,  as  you  may  judge,  was 
as  good  a  horseman  as  ever  galloped)  had  been 
watching  his  opportunity,  and  at  last  clapped 
the  golden  bit  of  the  enchanted  bridle  between 
the  winged  steed's  jaws.  No  sooner  was  this 
done,  than  Pegasus  became  as  manageable  as 
if  he  had  taken  food,  all  his  life,  out  of  Bellero- 


234  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

phon's  hand.  To  speak  what  I  really  feel,  it 
was  almost  a  sadness  to  see  so  wild  a  creature 
grow  suddenly  so  tame.  And  Pegasus  seemed 
to  feel  it  so,  likewise.  He  looked  round  to 
Bellerophon,  with  the  tears  in  his  beautiful 
eyes,  instead  of  the  fire  that  so  recently  flashed 
from  them.  But  when  Bellerophon  patted  his 
head,  and  spoke  a  few  authoritative,  yet  kind 
and  soothing  words,  another  look  came  into  the 
eyes  of  Pegasus;  for  he  was  glad  at  heart,  after 
so  many  lonely  centuries,  to  have  found  a  com- 
panion and  a  master. 

Thus  it  always  is  with  winged  horses,  and 
with  all  such  wild  and  solitary  creatures.  If 
you  can  catch  and  overcome  them,  it  is  the 
surest  way  to  win  their  love. 

While  Pegasus  had  been  doing  his  utmost  to 
shake  Bellerophon  off  his  back,  he  had  flown  a 
very  long  distance;  and  they  had  come  within 
sight  of  a  lofty  mountain  by  the  time  the  bit 
was  in  his  mouth.  Bellerophon  had  seen  this 
mountain  before,  and  knew  it  to  be  Helicon, 
on  the  summit  of  which  was  the  winged  horse's 
abode.  Thither  (after  looking  gently  into  his 
rider's  face,  as  if  to  ask  leave)  Pegasus  now  flew, 
and  alighting,  waited  patiently  until  Bellero- 
phon should  please  to  dismount.  The  young 
man,  accordingly,  leaped  from  his  steed's  back, 
but  still  held  him  fast  by  the  bridle.  Meeting 
his  eyes,  however,  he  was  so  affected  by  the 


THE  CHIMERA.  235 

gentleness  of  his  aspect,  and  by  the  thought  of 
the  free  life  which  Pegasus  had  heretofore  lived, 
that  he  could  not  bear  to  keep  him  a  prisoner, 
if  he  really  desired  his  liberty. 

Obeying  this  generous  impulse  he  slipped  the 
enchanted  bridle  off  the  head  of  Pegasus,  and 
took  the  bit  from  his  mouth. 

"Leave  me,  Pegasus!"  said  he.  "Either 
leave  me,  or  love  me." 

In  an  instant  the  winged  horse  shot  almost 
out  of  sight,  soaring  straight  upward  from  the 
summit  of  Mount  Helicon.  Being  long  after 
sunset,  it  was  now  twilight  on  the  mountain- 
top,  and  dusky  evening  over  all  the  country 
round  about.  But  Pegasus  flew  so  high  that 
he  overtook  the  departed  day,  and  was  bathed 
in  the  upper  radiance  of  the  sun.  Ascending 
higher  and  higher,  he  looked  like  a  bright  speck, 
and,  at  last,  could  no  longer  be  seen  in  the 
hollow  waste  of  the  sky.  And  Bellerophon 
was  afraid  that  he  should  never  behold  him 
more.  But,  while  he  was  lamenting  his  own 
folly,  the  bright  speck  reappeared,  and  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  it  descended  lower  than 
the  sunshine;  and,  behold,  Pegasus  had  come 
back!  After  this  trial  there  was  no  more  fear 
of  the  winged  horse's  making  his  escape.  He 
and  Bellerophon  were  friends,  and  put  loving 
faith  in  one  another. 

That  night  they  lay  down  and  slept  together, 


236  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

with  Bellerophon's  arm  about  the  neck  of 
Pegasus,  not  as  a  caution,  but  for  kindness. 
And  they  awoke  at  peep  of  day,  and  bade  one 
another  good  morning  each  in  his  own  language. 

In  this  manner,  Bellerophon  and  the  wondrous 
steed  spent  several  days,  and  grew  better 
acquainted  and  fonder  of  each  other  all  the 
time.  They  went  on  long  aerial  journeys,  and 
sometimes  ascended  so  high  that  the  earth 
looked  hardly  bigger  than  —  the  moon.  They 
visited  distant  countries,  and  amazed  the  inhabi- 
tants, who  thought  that  the  beautiful  young 
man,  on  the  back  of  the  winged  horse,  must  have 
come  down  out  of  the  sky.  A  thousand  miles 
a  day  was  no  more  than  an  easy  space  for  the 
fleet  Pegasus  to  pass  over.  Belleropohn  was 
delighted  with  this  kind  of  life,  and  would  have 
liked  nothing  better  than  to  live  always  in  the 
same  way,  aloft  in  the  clear  atmosphere;  for  it 
was  always  sunny  weather  up  there,  however 
cheerless  and  rainy  it  might  be  in  the  lower 
region.  But  he  could  not  forget  the  horrible 
Chimsera,  which  he  had  promised  King  Iobates 
to  slay.  So,  at  last,  when  he  had  become  well 
accustomed  to  feats  of  horsemanship  in  the  air, 
and  could  manage  Pegasus  with  the  least  motion 
of  his  hand,  and  had  taught  him  to  obey  his 
voice,  he  determined  to  attempt  the  performance 
of  this  perilous  adventure. 

At  daybreak,  therefore,  as  soon  as  he  unclosed 


THE  CHIMERA.  237 

his  eyes,  he  gently  pinched  the  winged  horse's 
ear,  in  order  to  arouse  him.  Pegasus  imme- 
diately started  from  the  ground,  and  pranced 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  aloft,  and  made  a 
grand  sweep  around  the  mountain-top,  by  way 
of  showing  that  he  was  wide  awake,  and  ready 
for  any  kind  of  excursion.  During  the  whole 
of  this  little  flight,  he  uttered  a  loud,  brisk,  and 
melodious  neigh,  and  finally  came  down  at 
Bellerophon's  side,  as  lightly  as  ever  you  saw 
a  sparrow  hop  upon  a  twig. 

"Well  done,  dear  Pegasus!  well  done, 
my  sky-skimmer!"  cried  Bellerophon,  fondly 
stroking  the  horse's  neck.  "And  now,  my 
fleet  and  beautiful  friend,  we  must  break  our 
fast.  To-day  we  are  to  fight  the  terrible 
Chimaera." 

As  soon  as  they  had  eaten  their  morning 
meal  and  drank  some  sparkling  water  from  a 
spring  called  Hippocrene,  Pegasus  held  out  his 
head,  of  his  own  accord,  so  that  his  master 
might  put  on  his  bridle.  Then,  with  a  great 
many  playful  leaps  and  airy  caperings,  he 
showed  his  impatience  to  be  gone ;  while  Bellero- 
phon was  girding  on  his  sword,  and  hanging 
his  shield  about  his  neck,  and  preparing  himself 
for  battle.  When  everything  was  ready,  the 
rider  mounted,  and  (as  was  his  custom,  when 
going  a  long  distance)  ascended  five  miles  per- 
pendicularly,  so  as  the  better  to  see  whither 


238  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

he  was  directing  his  course.  He  then  turned 
the  head  of  Pegasus  towards  the  east,  and  set 
out  for  Lycia.  In  their  flight  they  overtook 
an  eagle,  and  came  so  nigh  him,  before  he 
could  get  out  of  their  way,  that  Bellerophon 
might  easily  have  caught  him  by  the  leg. 
Hastening  onward  at  this  rate,  it  was  still 
early  in  the  forenoon  when  they  beheld  the 
lofty  mountains  of  Lycia,  with  their  deep  and 
shaggy  valleys.  If  Bellerophon  had  been  told 
truly,  it  was  in  one  of  those  dismal  valleys 
that  the  hideous  Chimaera  had  taken  up  its 
abode. 

Being  now  so  near  their  journey's  end,  the 
winged  horse  gradually  descended  with  his  rider; 
and  they  took  advantage  of  some  clouds  that 
were  floating  over  the  mountain-tops,  in  order 
to  conceal  themselves.  Hovering  on  the  upper 
surface  of  a  cloud,  and  peeping  over  its  edge, 
Bellerophon  had  a  pretty  distinct  view  of  the 
mountainous  part  of  Lycia,  and  could  look  into 
all  its  shadowy  vales  at  once.  At  first  there 
appeared  to  be  nothing  remarkable.  It  was  a 
wild,  savage,  and  rocky  tract  of  high  and  pre- 
cipitous hills.  In  the  more  level  part  of  the 
country,  there  were  the  ruins  of  houses  that 
had  been  burnt,  and,  here  and  there,  the  car- 
casses of  dead  cattle,  strewn  about  the  pastures 
where  they  had  been  feeding. 

"  The  Chimaera  must  have  done  this  mischief," 


Page  242 


As  it  came  within  arm's-length,   Bellerophon  w</</.'  a  cut  at  the 
monster 


THE  CHIMERA.  239 

thought    Bellerophon.     "  But    where    can    the 
monster  be?" 

As  I  have  already  said,  there  was  nothing 
remarkable  to  be  detected,  at  first  sight,  in 
any  of  the  valleys  and  dells  that  lay  among  the 
precipitous  heights  of  the  mountains.  Nothing 
at  all;  unless,  indeed,  it  were  three  spires  of 
black  smoke,  which  issued  from  what  seemed 
to  be  the  mouth  of  a  cavern,  and  clambered 
sullenly  into  the  atmosphere.  Before  reaching 
the  mountain-top,  these  three  black  smoke- 
wreaths  mingled  themselves  into  one.  The 
cavern  was  amost  directly  beneath  the  winged 
horse  and  his  rider,  at  the  distance  of  about  a 
thousand  feet.  The  smoke,  as  it  crept  heavily 
upward,  had  an  ugly  sulphurous,  stifling  scent 
which  caused  Pegasus  to  snort  and  Bellerophon 
to  sneeze.  So  disagreeable  was  it  to  the  mar- 
vellous steed  (who  was  accustomed  to  breathe 
only  the  purest  air),  that  he  waved  his  wings, 
and  shot  half  a  mile  out  of  the  range  of  this 
offensive  vapor. 

But,  on  looking  behind  him,  Bellerophon  saw 
something  that  induced  him  first  to  draw  the 
bridle,  and  then  to  turn  Pegasus  about.  He 
made  a  sign,  which  the  winged  horse  under- 
stood, and  sunk  slowly  through  the  air,  until 
his  hoofs  were  scarcely  more  than  a  man's 
height  above  the  rocky  bottom  of  the  valley 
In  front,  as  far  off  as  you  could  throw  a  stone, 

16 


24o  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

was  the  cavern's  mouth,  with  the  three  smoke- 
wreaths  oozing  out  of  it.  And  what  else  did 
Bellerophon  behold  there? 

There  seemed  to  be  a  heap  of  strange  and 
terrible  creatures  curled  up  within  the  cavern. 
Their  bodies  lay  so  close  together,  that  Bellero- 
phon could  not  distinguish  them  apart;  but, 
judging  by  their  heads,  one  of  these  creatures 
was  a  huge  snake,  the  second  a  fierce  lion,  and 
the  third  an  ugly  goat.  The  lion  and  the  goat 
were  asleep;  the  snake  was  broad  awake,  and 
kept  staring  around  him  with  a  great  pair  of 
fiery  eyes,  But — and  this  was  the  most  won- 
derful part  of  the  matter — the  three  spires  of 
smoke  evidently  issued  from  the  nostrils  of 
these  three  heads!  So  strange  was  the  spec- 
tacle, that,  though  Bellerophon  had  been  all 
along  expecting  it,  the  truth  did  not  immedi- 
ately occur  to  him,  that  here  was  the  terrible 
three-headed  Chimaera.  He  had  found  out  the 
Chimasra's  cavern.  The  snake,  the  lion,  and 
the  goat,  as  he  supposed  them  to  be,  were  not 
three  separate  creatures,  but  one  monster! 

The  wicked,  hateful  thing!  Slumbering  as 
two-thirds  of  it  were,  it  still  held,  in  its  abomin- 
able claws,  the  remnant  of  an  unfortunate 
lamb, — or  possibly  (but  I  hate  to  think  so)  it 
was  a  dear  little  boy, — which  its  three  mouths 
had  been  gnawing,  before  two  of  them  fell 
asleep ' 


THE  CHIMERA.  241 

All  at  once,  Bellerophon  started  as  from  a 
dream,  and  knew  it  to  be  the  Chimaera.  Pegasus 
seemed  to  know  it,  at  the  same  instant,  and 
sent  forth  a  neigh,  that  sounded  like  the  call  of 
a  trumpet  to  battle.  At  this  sound  the  three 
heads  reared  themselves  erect,  and  belched  out 
great  flashes  of  flame.  Before  Bellerophon  had 
time  to  consider  what  to  do  next,  the  monster 
flung  itself  out  of  the  cavern  and  sprung  straight 
towards  him,  with  its  immense  claws  extended, 
and  its  snaky  tail  twisting  itself  venomously 
behind.  If  Pegasus  had  not  been  as  nimble 
as  a  bird,  both  he  and  his  rider  would  have  been 
overthrown  by  the  Chimaera's  headlong  rush, 
and  thus  the  battle  have  been  ended  before  it 
was  well  begun.  But  the  winged  horse  was  not 
to  be  caught  so.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he 
was  up  aloft,  half  way  to  the  clouds,  snorting 
with  anger.  He  shuddered,  too,  not  with 
affright,  but  with  utter  disgust  at  the  loath- 
someness of  this  poisonous  thing  with  three 
heads. 

The  Chimaera,  on  the  other  hand,  raised 
itself  up  so  as  to  stand  absolutely  on  the  tip- 
end  of  its  tail,  with  its  talons  pawing  fiercely 
in  the  air,  and  its  three  heads  spluttering  fire 
at  Pegasus  and  his  rider.  My  stars,  how  it 
roared,  and  hissed,  and  bellowed!  Bellerophon, 
meanwhile,  was  fitting  his  shield  on  his  arm 
and  drawing  his  sword. 


242  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Now,  my  beloved  Pegasus,"  he  whispered 
in  the  winged  horse's  ear,  "thou  must  help  me 
to  slay  this  insufferable  monster;  or  else  thou 
shalt  fly  back  to  thy  solitary  mountain-peak 
without  thy  friend  Bellerophon.  For  either  the 
Chimaera  dies,  or  its  three  mouths  shall  gnaw 
this  head  of  mine,  which  has  slumbered  upon 
thy  neck!" 

Pegasus  whinnied,  and,  turning  back  his  head, 
rubbed  his  nose  tenderly  against  his  rider's 
cheek.  It  was  his  way  of  telling  him  that 
though  he  had  wings  and  was  an  immortal 
horse,  yet  he  would  perish,  if  it  were  possible 
for  immortality  to  perish,  rather  than  leave 
Bellerophon  behind. 

"I  thank  you,  Pegasus,"  answered  Bellero- 
phon. "Now  then,  let  us  make  a  dash  at  the 
monster!" 

Uttering  these  words,  he  shook  the  bridle; 
and  Pegasus  darted  down  aslant,  as  swift 
as  the  flight  of  an  arrow,  right  towards  the 
Chimasra's  threefold  head,  which,  all  this  time, 
was  poking  itself  as  high  as  it  could  into  the 
air.  As  it  came  within  arm's-length,  Bellero- 
phon made  a  cut  at  the  monster,  but  was  carried 
onward  by  his  steed,  before  he  could  see  whether 
the  blow  had  been  successful.  Pegasus  con- 
tinued his  course,  but  soon  wheeled  round,  at 
about  the  same  distance  from  the  Chimaera  as 
before.     Bellerophon   then   perceived   that   he 


THE  CHIMERA.  243 

had  cut  the  goat's  head  of  the  monster  almost 
off,  so  that  it  dangled  downward  by  the  skin, 
and  seemed  quite  dead. 

But,  to  make  amends,  the  snake's  head  and 
the  lion's  head  had  taken  all  the  fierceness  of 
the  dead  one  into  themselves,  and  spit  flame, 
and  hissed,  and  roared,  with  a  vast  deal  more 
fury  than  before. 

"Never  mind,  my  brave  Pegasus!"  cried 
Bellerophon.  "With  another  stroke  like  that, 
we  will  stop  either  its  hissing  or  its  roaring." 

And  again  he  shook  the  bridle.  Dashing 
aslantwise,  as  before,  the  winged  horse  made 
another  arrow-flight  towards  the  Chimasra,  and 
Bellerophon  aimed  another  downright  stroke 
at  one  of  the  two  remaining  heads,  as  he  shot 
by.  But  this  time,  neither  he  nor  Pegasus 
escaped  so  well  as  at  first.  With  one  of  its 
claws,  the  Chimaera  had  given  the  young  man 
a  deep  scratch  in  his  shoulder,  and  had  slightly 
damaged  the  left  wing  of  the  flying  steed  with 
the  other.  On  his  part,  Bellerophon  had  mor- 
tally wounded  the  lion's  head  of  the  monster, 
insomuch  that  it  now  hung  downward,  with  its 
fire  almost  extinguished,  and  sending  out  gasps 
of  thick  black  smoke.  The  snake's  head,  how- 
ever (which  was  the  only  one  now  left),  was 
twice  as  fierce  and  venomous  as  ever  before. 
It  belched  forth  shoots  of  fire  five  hundred  yards 
long,  and  emitted  hisses  so  loud,  so  harsh,  and 


244  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

so  ear-piercing,  that  King  Iobates  heard  them, 
fifty  miles  off,  and  trembled  till  the  throne  shook 
under  him. 

"Well-a-day!"  thought  the  poor  king;  "the 
Chimaera  is  certainly  coming  to  devour  me!" 

Meanwhile  Pegasus  had  again  paused  in  the 
air,  and  neighed  angrily,  while  sparkles  of  a 
pure  crystal  flame  darted  out  of  his  eyes.  How 
unlike  the  lurid  fire  of  the  Chimaera !  The  aerial 
steed's  spirit  was  all  aroused,  and  so  was  that 
of  Bellerophon. 

"  Dost  thou  bleed,  my  immortal  horse?"  cried 
the  young  man,  caring  less  for  his  own  hurt 
than  for  the  anguish  of  this  glorious  creature, 
that  ought  never  to  have  tasted  pain.  "The 
execrable  Chimaera  shall  pay  for  this  mischief 
with  his  last  head!" 

Then  he  shook  the  bridle,  shouted  loudly,  and 
guided  Pegasus,  not  aslantwise  as  before,  but 
straight  at  the  monster's  hideous  front.  So 
rapid  was  the  onset,  that  it  seemed  but  a  dazzle 
and  a  flash  before  Bellerophon  was  at  close 
gripes  with  his  enemy. 

The  Chimaera,  by  this  time,  after  losing  his 
second  head,  had  got  into  a  red-hot  passion  of 
pain  and  rampant  rage.  It  so  flounced  about, 
half  on  earth  and  partly  in  the  air,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  say  which  element  it  rested  upon. 
It  opened  its  snake- jaws  to  such  an  abomin- 
able width,  that  Pegasus  might  almost,  I  was 


THE  CHIMERA.  245 

going  to  say,  have  flown  right  down  its  throat, 
wings  outspread,  rider  and  all!  At  their  ap- 
proach it  shot  out  a  tremendous  blast  of  its 
fiery  breath,  and  enveloped  Bellerophon  and 
his  steed  in  a  perfect  atmosphere  of  flame, 
singeing  the  wings  of  Pegasus,  scorching  off  one 
whole  side  of  the  young  man's  golden  ringlets, 
and  making  them  both  far  hotter  than  was 
comfortable,  from  head  to  foot. 

But  this  was  nothing  to  what  followed. 

When  the  airy  rush  of  the  winged  horse  had 
brought  him  within  the  distance  of  a  hundred 
yards,  the  Chimaera  gave  a  spring,  and  flung 
its  huge,  awkward,  venomous,  and  utterly 
detestable  carcass  right  upon  poor  Pegasus, 
clung  round  him  with  might  and  main,  and  tied 
up  its  snaky  tail  into  a  knot !  Up  flew  the  aerial 
steed,  higher,  higher,  higher,  above  the  moun- 
tain-peaks, above  the  clouds,  and  almost  out  of 
sight  of  the  solid  earth.  But  still  the  earth- 
born  monster  kept  its  hold,  and  was  borne 
upward,  along  with  the  creature  of  light  and 
air.  Bellerophon,  meanwhile,  turning  about, 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  ugly  grim- 
ness  of  the  Chimasra's  visage,  and  could  only 
avoid  being  scorched  to  death,  or  bitten  right 
in  twain,  by  holding  up  his  shield.  Over  the 
upper  edge  of  the  shield,  he  looked  sternly  into 
the  savage  eyes  of  the  monster. 

But  the  Chimaera  was  so  mad  and  wild  with 


246  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

pain,  that  it  did  not  guard  itself  so  well  as  might 
else  have  been  the  case.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the 
best  way  to  fight  a  Chimsera  is  by  getting  as 
close  to  it  as  you  can.  In  its  efforts  to  stick 
its  horrible  iron  claws  into  its  enemy,  the  crea- 
ture left  its  own  breast  quite  exposed;  and  per- 
ceiving this,  Bellerophon  thrust  his  sword  up 
to  the  hilt  into  its  cruel  heart.  Immediately 
the  snaky  tail  untied  its  knot.  The  monster 
let  go  its  hold  of  Pegasus,  and  fell  from  that 
vast  height,  downward;  while  the  fire  within 
its  bosom,  instead  of  being  put  out,  burned 
fiercer  than  ever,  and  quickly  began  to  con- 
sume the  dead  carcass.  Thus  it  fell  out  of  the 
sky,  all  a-flame,  and  (it  being  nightfall  before 
it  reached  the  earth)  was  mistaken  for  a  shooting 
star  or  a  comet.  But,  at  early  sunrise,  some 
cottagers  were  going  to  their  day's  labor,  and 
saw,  to  their  astonishment,  that  several  acres 
of  ground  were  strewn  with  black  ashes.  In 
the  middle  of  a  field,  there  was  a  heap  of  whit- 
ened bones,  a  great  deal  higher  than  a  hay-stack. 
Nothing  else  was  ever  seen  of  the  dreadful 
Chimasra ! 

And  when  Bellerophon  had  won  the  victory, 
he  bent  forward  and  kissed  Pegasus,  while  the 
tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"Back  now,  my  beloved  steed!"  said  he. 
"Back  to  the  Fountain  of  Pirene!" 

Pegasus  skimmed  through  the  air,   quicker 


THE  CHIMERA.  247 

than  ever  he  did  before,  and  reached  the  foun- 
tain in  a  very  short  time.  And  there  he  found 
the  old  man  leaning  on  his  staff,  and  the  country 
fellow  watering  his  cow,  and  the  pretty  maiden 
filling   her   pitcher. 

"I  remember  now,"  quoth  the  old  man,  "I 
saw  this  winged  horse  once  before,  when  I  was 
quite  a  lad.  But  he  was  ten  times  handsomer 
in  those  days." 

"I  own  a  cart-horse,  worth  three  of  him!" 
said  the  country  fellow.  "  If  this  pony  were 
mine,  the  first  thing  I  should  do  would  be  to 
clip  his  wings!" 

But  the  poor  maiden  said  nothing,  for  she  had 
always  the  luck  to  be  afraid  at  the  wrong  time. 
So  she  ran  away,  and  let  her  pitcher  tumble 
down,  and  broke  it. 

"Where  is  the  gentle  child,"  asked  Bellero- 
phon,  "who  used  to  keep  me  company,  and 
never  lost  his  faith,  and  never  was  weary  of 
gazing  into  the  fountain?" 

"Here  am  I,  dear  Bellerophon ! "  said  the 
child,  softly. 

For  the  little  boy  had  spent  day  after  day,  on 
the  margin  of  Pirene,  waiting  for  his  friend  to 
come  back!  but  when  he  perceived  Bellerophon 
descending  through  the  clouds,  mounted  on  the 
winged  horse,  he  had  shrunk  back  into  the 
shrubbery.  He  was  a  delicate  and  tender  child, 
and  dreaded  lest  the  old  man  and  the  country 


248  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

fellow  should  see  the  tears  gushing  from  his 
eyes. 

"Thou  hast  won  the  victory,"  said  he,  joy- 
fully, running  to  the  knee  of  Bellerophon,  who 
still  sat  on  the  back  of  Pegasus.  "  I  knew  thou 
wouldst." 

"  Yes,  dear  child! "  replied  Bellerophon,  alight- 
ing from  the  winged  horse.  "  But  if  thy  faith 
had  not  helped  me,  I  should  never  have  waited 
for  Pegasus,  and  never  have  gone  up  above  the 
clouds,  and  never  have  conquered  the  terrible 
Chimaera.  Thou,  my  beloved  little  friend,  hast 
done  it  all.  And  now  let  us  give  Pegasus  his 
liberty." 

So  he  slipped  off  the  enchanted  bridle  from 
the  head  of  the  marvelous  steed. 

"Be  free,  forevermore,  my  Pegasus!"  cried 
he,  with  a  shade  of  sadness  in  his  tone.  "  Be 
as  free  as  thou  art  fleet!" 

But  Pegasus  rested  his  head  on  Bellerophon's 
shoulder,  and  would  not  be  persuaded  to  take 
flight. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Bellerophon,  caressing  the 
airy  horse,  "thou  shalt  be  with  me,  as  long  as 
thou  wilt;  and  we  will  go  together,  forthwith, 
and  tell  King  Iobates  that  the  Chimsera  is 
destroyed." 

Then  Bellerophon  embraced  the  gentle  child, 
and  promised  to  come  to  him  again,  and 
departed.     But,  in  after  years,  that  child  took 


THE  CHIMERA. 


249 


higher  flights  upon  the  aerial  steed  than  ever 
did  Bellerophon,  and  achieved  more  honorable 
deeds  than  his  friend's  victory  over  the  Chimsera. 
For,  gentle  and  tender  as  he  was,  he  grew  to  be 
a  mighty  poet! 


BALD-SUMMIT. 

AFTER   THE    STORY. 

Eustace  Bright  told  the  legend  of  Bellerophon 
with  as  much  fervor  and  animation  as  if  he 
had  really  been  taking  a  gallop  on  the  winged 
horse.  At  the  conclusion,  he  was  gratified  to 
discern,  by  the  glowing  countenances  of  his 
auditors,  how  greatly  they  had  been  interested. 
All  their  eyes  were  dancing  in  their  heads, 
except  those  of  Primrose.  In  her  eyes  there 
were  positively  tears;  for  she  was  conscious  of 
something  in  the  legend  which  the  rest  of  them 
were  not  yet  old  enough  to  feel.  Child's  story 
as  it  was,  the  student  had  contrived  to  breathe 
through  it  the  ardor,  the  generous  hope,  and 
the  imaginative  enterprise  of  youth. 

"I  forgive  you  now,  Primrose,"  said  he, 
"  for  all  your  ridicule  of  myself  and  my  stories. 
One  tear  pays  for  a  great  deal  of  laughter." 

"Well,  Mr.  Bright,"  answered  Primrose,  wip- 
ing her  eyes,  and  giving  him  another  of  her  mis- 
chievous smiles,  "  it  certainly  does  elevate  your 
ideas,  to  get  your  head  above  the  clouds.  I 
advise     you    never     to     tell     another     story, 

250 


THE  CHIMERA.  251 

unless  it  be,  as  at  present,  from  the  top  of  a 
mountain." 

"Or  from  the  back  of  Pegasus,"  replied 
Eustace,  laughing.  "  Don't  you  think  that  I 
succeeded  pretty  well  in  catching  that  wonder- 
ful pony?" 

"It  was  so  like  one  of  your  madcap  pranks!" 
cried  Primrose,  clapping  her  hands.  "  I  think 
I  see  you  now  on  his  back,  two  miles  high;  and 
with  your  head  downward!  It  is  well  that 
you  have  not  really  an  opportunity  of  trying 
your  horsemanship  on  any  wilder  steed  than 
our  sober  Davy,  or  Old  Hundred." 

"  For  my  part,  I  wish  I  had  Pegasus  here, 
at  this  moment,"  said  the  student.  "I  would 
mount  him  forthwith,  and  gallop  about  the 
country,  within  a  circumference  of  a  few  miles, 
making  literary  calls  on  my  brother-authors. 
Doctor  Dewey  would  be  within  my  reach,  at  the 
foot  of  Taconic.  In  Stockbridge,  yonder,  is 
Mr.  James,  conspicuous  to  all  the  world  on  his 
mountain-pile  of  history  and  romance.  Long- 
fellow, I  believe,  is  not  yet  at  the  Ox-bow,  else 
the  winged  horse  would  neigh  at  the  sight  of 
him.  But,  here  in  Lenox,  I  should  find  our 
most  truthful  novelist,  who  has  made  the 
scenery  and  life  of  Berkshire  all  her  own.  On 
the  hither  side  of  Pittsfield  sits  Herman  Melville, 
shaping  out  the  gigantic  conception  of  his 
'White   Whale,'   while   the  gigantic   shape  of 


252  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

Graylock  looms  upon  him  from  his  study 
window.  Another  bound  of  my  flying  steed 
would  bring  me  to  the  door  of  Holmes,  whom  I 
mention  last,  because  Pegasus  would  certainly 
unseat  me,  the  next  minute,  and  claim  the  poet 
as  his  rider." 

"  Have  we  not  an  author  for  our  next  neigh- 
bor?" asked  Primrose.  "That  silent  man,  who 
lives  in  the  old  red  house,  near  Tanglewood 
Avenue,  and  whom  we  sometimes  meet,  with 
two  children  at  his  side,  in  the  woods  or  at  the 
lake.  I  think  I  have  heard  of  his  having  written 
a  poem,  or  a  romance,  or  an  arithmetic,  or  a 
school-history,  or  some  other  kind  of  a  book." 

"Hush,  Primrose,  hush!"  exclaimed  Eustace, 
in  a  thrilling  whisper,  and  putting  his  finger  on 
his  lip.  "  Not  a  word  about  that  man,  even 
on  a  hill-top!  If  our  babble  were  to  reach  his 
ears,  and  happen  not  to  please  him,  he  has  but 
to  fling  a  quire  or  two  of  paper  into  the  stove, 
and  you,  Primrose,  and  I,  and  Periwinkle, 
Sweet  Fern,  Squash-Blossom,  Blue  Eye,  Huckle- 
berry, Clover,  Cowslip,  Plantain,  Milkweed, 
Dandelion,  and  Buttercup — yes,  and  wise  Mr. 
Pringle,  with  his  unfavorable  criticisms  on  my 
legends,  and  poor  Mrs.  Pringle,  too  —  would 
all  turn  to  smoke,  and  go  whisking  up  the 
funnel!  Our  neighbor  in  the  red  house  is  a 
harmless  sort  of  person  enough,  for  aught  I 
know,  as  concerns  the  rest  of  the  world:  but 


THE  CHIMERA.  253 

something  whispers  to  me  that  he  has  a  terrible 
power  over  ourselves,  extending  to  nothing  short 
of  annihilation." 

"And  would  Tanglewood  turn  to  smoke,  as 
well  as  we?"  asked  Periwinkle,  quite  appalled 
at  the  threatened  destruction.  "And  what 
would  become  of  Ben  and  Bruin?" 

"Tanglewood  would  remain,"  replied  the 
student,  "looking  just  as  it  does  now,  but  occu- 
pied by  an  entirely  different  family.  And  Ben 
and  Bruin  would  be  still  alive,  and  would  make 
themselves  very  comfortable  with  the  bones 
from  the  dinner-table,  without  ever  thinking 
of  the  good  times  which  they  and  we  have  had 
together ! ' ' 

"What  nonsense  you  are  talking!"  exclaimed 
Primrose. 

With  idle  chat  of  this  kind,  the  party  had 
already  begun  to  descend  the  hill,  and  were 
now  within  the  shadow  of  the  woods.  Primrose 
gathered  some  mountain-laurel,  the  leaf  of 
which,  though  of  last  year's  growth,  was  still 
as  verdant  and  elastic  as  if  the  frost  and  thaw 
had  not  alternately  tried  their  force  upon  its 
texture.  Of  these  twigs  of  laurel  she  twined  a 
wreath,  and  took  off  the  student's  cap,  in  order 
to  place  it  on  his  brow. 

"  Nobody  else  is  likely  to  crown  you  for  your 
stories,"  observed  saucy  Primrose,  "so  take  this 
from  me." 


254  A  WONDER-BOOK. 

"Do  not  be  too  sure,"  answered  Eustace, 
looking  really  like  a  youthful  poet,  with  the 
laurel  among  his  glossy  curls,  "that  I  shall  not 
win  other  wreaths  by  these  wonderful  and 
admirable  stories.  I  mean  to  spend  all  my 
leisure,  during  the  rest  of  the  vacation,  and 
throughout  the  summer  term  at  college,  in 
writing  them  out  for  the  press.  In  about  five 
months  from  this  moment,  I  make  no  doubt  of 
being  reckoned  among  the  lights  of  the  age!" 

"Poor  boy!"  said  Primrose,  half  aside. 
"What  a  disappointment  awaits  him!" 

Descending  a  little  lower,  Bruin  began  to  bark, 
and  was  answered  by  the  graver  bow-wow  of 
the  respectable  Ben.  They  soon  saw  the  good 
old  dog,  keeping  careful  watch  over  Dandelion, 
Sweet  Fern,  Cowslip,  and  Squash-Blossom.  These 
little  people,  quite  recovered  from  their  fatigue, 
had  set  about  gathering  checker-berries,  and 
now  came  clambering  to  meet  their  playfellows. 
Thus  reunited,  the  whole  party  went  down 
through  Luther  Butler's  orchard,  and  made  the 
best  of  their  way  home  to  Tanglewood. 


THE    END. 


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